


Inferno

by BMMorgan



Series: Apocalypse [2]
Category: Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:49:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 126,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BMMorgan/pseuds/BMMorgan
Summary: As the scalding heat wave continues, Gabrielle and her friends must smuggle Eve and the Cult of Eli out of Rome. Complicating matters are the dark machinations of Ares, the madness of the Emperor Nero and the warrior's own doubt in her abilities. A doubt compounded by the painful confusion caused by her battle with the mysterious Assassin of the Gods, Nemesis.
Relationships: Gabrielle & Xena, Gabrielle/Xena
Series: Apocalypse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625440
Comments: 27
Kudos: 17





	1. Prologue

** _Anxur_ **

Sunrise cast vague light out over the rolling Tyrrhenum, lending the sky an air of hazy uncertainty. It glared pale like polished silver, the azure leeched out. Even the legions of seabirds were out of place against it, exiled from the formless ether that was so often their adopted home. Beneath it all, the sea fell upon the sand in gentle waves as it always had.

She closed Her eyes, listening.

Nothing born into this world was immune to the soothing congress of sea and sand. While unsure at first, She had found Herself to be no exception. As She took in the water's accord with the white beach, the turmoil She had experienced earlier lifted from Her.

She opened Her eyes. The waves rolled toward Her with a sigh.

Hundreds of Her footsteps disappeared into a single point far along the pale coast, mapping out a journey She had begun before dawn. Her red cape whipped in the breeze, in stark contrast to the pale hues of the beach and the water. The sun only enflamed Her mantle, and it burned in reflection upon the anemic palate of the surroundings. Blue eyes traced the steady path of an albatross high over the waves. Its powerful wings beat lazily against the soft push of the wind. She pulled the cloak about Her shoulders.

The sun, the sand, the sea, the sky-four elements revolved in slow harmony as they always had and they always would. This was the universe manifest in its simplest parts, as though She stood witness to the beginning or the end of the world.

At the western horizon She could see a line of dark storm clouds looming, their movement and size obscured by their utter blackness, which swallowed the formless light of morning, confounding any attempt to make their bounds corporeal. Their enigmatic dimensions held Her gaze-the compulsion to be engulfed, lost in such a void fell heavily upon Her.

The breeze that blew to Her from over Hispania and across the sea played in the crimson of Her cape, fat with the sultriness of rain. Her nostrils arched, hungry for the musk of humidity. A flash of something, a memory clutched Her-somewhere else, a heavy downpour pummeling a thin canopy of elms, the leaves heaving, a woman running from Her, laughing, Her giving chase, the water kissing Her smiling cheeks.

A wave unrolled itself, lightly passing over Her sandaled feet. She shook Her head. The visions had followed Her from Rome, clutching at Her as She ran. More than the deliriums She had experienced earlier that had been so much like dreams, these visions were real in Her mind, these were actual memories, She knew that. They had followed Her from Rome, from the temple, where She had held that cold steel circlet and had felt it all, everything torn from Her.

The pull of connections beyond the reservoir of Her memory gripped Her, voices calling out. How was She connected to any of this? Was it Her past or Her future? The visions, the memories confused Her, it was true-not only because they were foreign to Her, but because She enjoyed them. She enjoyed how they made Her feel. Powerful. Alive.

The waves receded as She knelt on the beach; Her hand sank into the sand for balance. These were not Her memories, yet somehow She felt comfortable possessing them, thinking of them as Her own. She shut Her eyes. Mild nausea washed over Her just as the waves did. She had failed in Her task, Her test. She had failed Her master and had been reduced to this-a broken, battered child, grasping at shells in the shallows of the sea. She had nothing for him, not even Herself anymore.

She stood. Sand fell softly through Her fingers. She removed Her helmet, letting the wind play in Her hair and push it from Her like a veil. Weightlessness, or the impression of it, captured Her, threatening to sweep Her from Her feet. There was a wild giddiness to the feeling, one that triggered reminiscence without any visions, just a sensation of a place free from time. Or was it the other way around? There was the vertigo that memory now induced, but She no longer cared. Regardless of whom it belonged to, this nostalgia was something She could clutch, She could make Her own.

Without knowing or caring why, She spun Herself gently, slowly once upon the white sand.

The sun had climbed higher in the sky. Her black hair spilled about Her face as the wind weakened. She blinked, listening to the unchanging rhythm of the waves, Her lips slowly dropping into their customary place. She tasted blood.

"There you are." Her master appeared before Her upon the sand. "Out for a stroll?"

She straightened, Her fingers clutching Her helmet tightly.

"I... I was returning from my mission." She looked to the horizon, the clouds. "I failed you, Master."

"You didn't fail me, kid." The God of War smiled. "Not exactly, anyway."

She bowed Her head. She didn't pretend to understand Her master's intentions, but his mercy and understanding was greatly appreciated.

"Call it a partial victory," Ares said. "Still, I was hoping you would come through a little stronger for me, but no matter."

They walked along the beach together, soon approaching the dunes that poured toward the gradual shelf of land that the old bathhouses were built upon. Neither had spoken a word.

"Okay, you seem dour even for you," Ares broke the silence. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing, Master."

He looked at Her. "I don't believe that." She bowed Her head. He crossed his arms. "I don't know -- maybe I've been pushing you too hard, too soon. Maybe you need a rest."

"I?"

"Sure," Ares nodded. "It's okay. I expected more from you, but maybe I was unrealistic. No one's perfect." He winked. "Even when I make 'em."

"But?"

"I can't have you running around with all this doubt and stress now, can I?"

She raised Her eyes allowing them to meet his. He grinned, putting his hands upon Her shoulders. "It'll only be for a little while. Until you feel better. Take your time." He nodded, smirking. "Figure things out."

Her fists, She finally noticed, were clenched tightly. She opened them, letting blood return with its flood of warmth. She could only nod.

"Good," Ares said. "I'll be by to check up on ya -- when I get a chance. Take care." He disappeared into the morning.

The wind picked up again, whipping Her cape, snapping it in the air around Her. She continued up the slope towards the baths, passing absently through the dry patches of beach grass. The sun was now gaining strength in the sky above Her. She followed the line of Her footsteps into the distance, the northern horizon. It was easy to imagine any number of alternate routes She might have taken to arrive here, to arrive anywhere. In the end She knew it was all the same; it all ended in the same way.

Meridian shifted in its scabbard upon Her back. She squinted out across the sea. She had always preferred to wear the sword behind Her, rather than at Her hip. Even this now was ambiguous -- was someone else. She sighed.

Holding Her helmet beneath Her arm, She moved toward the baths, Her bed, and the hollow comfort of unfamiliar dreams.


	2. Like Those Hollow Places Between the Stars

The upturned form of Rome was ashen beneath the early morning sun. Buildings, pale and spent, cast the new light in a blinding white glow. The city sprawled stinking and unmoving against the receding Tiberus, curled at the extremities like a crucifixion cut down.

Heat refused to leave the capitol now. It buried itself in the dirt of the street, the porous rock and tile of the buildings, the withered trunks of the trees, the snouts of animals. At night it emerged; pouring, spilling into the streets like an unseen tide to flood the alleys, the forae, the rooms where people lay damp and unsleeping.

Moisture was exiled by the tyranny of the sun; leaving in mass exodus as vapor over the city. Objects betrayed it to the conquering star. Parched pots crumbled or shattered in gardens, upon balconies. Statues buckled or were avulsed by the rays of Helios to be left standing scarred or lying broken in the streets. Clothes disintegrated from the backs of the poor, or from travelers who slept in the parks. It was believed that water was even abducted from reservoirs below the earth; passing through the loose and dusty ground, and lifted into the blank face of the livid sky. Citizens talked of roof tiles popping in quick succession above their heads like vertebrae in a lion's jaws.

The Romans were calling it aestas tartarum-the summer of Hell-for truly, suffering was in abundance and without end. Night was as hot as morning, morning like noon, and at noon the city was a crucible. Children ran through the forae with fingers blistered by toys left too long unattended in the sun. People wandered the streets; eyes vacant, mouths agape. Flies emerged fully formed and hungry from the Styx-like murk of the river.

Upon the palm-lush heights of the Quirinal hill, the conflagration of the Roman morning was somewhat bearable, especially to one raised with the arid summers of Hellas in her blood. Gabrielle had never wanted to admit it, but the choking heat wave often reminded her of Greece; of late summers in Poteidaia, or on the dusty roads of the Peloponesse, although the sun had never burned with such purpose or cruelty in her memories.

She sighed and pulled the light, red linen of her new robe over her shoulders. A gift from the Phoenician merchant Cyrus who had handed it to her in the light of early morning, with a flash of straight, white teeth beneath his noble mustache.

The warrior squinted over the city from a high balcony at the Senator's home. What came before these moments of stillness seemed only a blur: After the rescue, a few restless hours of sleep; Mira complaining as she was shaken awake; the flight along the western end of the city, using the sparse merchant caravans as uneasy cover; avoiding Praetorians; ascending the steep Quirinal; Virgil pointing solemnly at the recently charred ruin of a military fort at the base of the hill; Senator Gallus, the Phoenician, the old man; Eve and Mira going back to sleep; Virgil, his arm around the old man, Seneca, who led the poet to a grand peristylium.

During the exhausted commotion, she had held her breath. It's what she did when, as a child, she would hide, her sister trying desperately to find her, running to the barn and back calling _Gabrielle! Gabrielle!_ She leaned against a wall, stood perfectly still and held her breath. In the shaded comfort of Gallus' atrium, she gave herself to the fatigue, hoping it might find her first, before anyone. Hoping it might obliterate her; that she might slide softly down the wall to the floor and into a black sleep, or just crumble silently into dust.

Cyrus had found her, had talked, smiled shyly like a small girl, and handed her the robe -- stark, blood red against the dark and muted colors of the meeting room, its fabric as light and thin as a wing. He had left her then; his sensitivity to the depth of her weariness should have made her grateful, but only penetrated to a place that drained more of her precious reserves, increasing her lassitude.

Eventually, she had found the shaded balcony with its palms and its hazy view of the city. She had stepped with bare feet upon the veins of marble passing, like a caress, to the edge. As the sun loomed angrily above, she had stepped quietly from her clothes, bruised skin shining in the morning, and had wrapped the weightless cloth around her. Then she had stared out over the city for the better part of an hour, lost in a numb miasma. Occasionally she focused on features or occurrences below-shouts, the flights of sparrows, the secret business of stray cats. She found it hard to lift her eyes toward the southern horizon, but often felt compelled to do so.

There were still plumes of black smoke rising from the Palatine hill. She shifted against the marble of the balcony. _Had She destroyed the temple? Had they destroyed Her?_ Gabrielle sighed.

The tightness of the fresh bandages caused her to shift with discomfort. Nemesis had struck the warrior viciously in her already broken ribs, and the wound throbbed worse now than before. The entire encounter presented itself to her in that way; more vivid in recall than when she had actually experienced it. The clash of swords threatened to swell in her ears, throbbing torchlight seemed to engulf her, the temple threatening to materialize its columns, its altar, Caesar's statue--

_And Her silhouette..._

Gabrielle shut her eyes. The marble was cold beneath her fingers, pulsing with the various footfalls within the large home. Mira was approaching from behind, barefoot and tentative across the balcony. Gabrielle turned and nodded to her. The girl squinted in the brightness of the sun, her eyes still adjusting from the shade of the house. She stood beside the warrior and stared out over the city.

"That's a nice color on you," she smirked.

"Thanks."

"There's breakfast inside," Mira offered.

Gabrielle shifted. "Great."

The girl turned. "You know," she began. "We rescued everyone. It was a complete success."

"I know," Gabrielle smiled, a little self-consciously.

"Then why didn't you sleep? Why are you out here?"

"We still have a lot to do before we can stop and rest, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Mira nodded. "That's not what's bothering you, though."

Gabrielle blinked, then sighed. "No... no it isn't."

The girl squinted out over the balcony, watching a group of swallows pop in and out of holes they had dug in an eroded embankment at the side of the hill. She sighed.

"Come inside, everyone is meeting for breakfast. I think they want you there."

Gabrielle nodded and they both headed towards the door.

"You can tell me about it when you're ready," Mira whispered as they passed from the blazing heat of outdoors to the muted swelter of Gallus' home.

In the dining chamber there was a huge wooden table adorned with a large repast. The inviting smell of fresh bread mixed sweetly with fragrant fruit and cold meats. Gabrielle collected some food and joined the others, who reclined lazily on couches in the lush chamber. She found a spot near the bowing leaves of a large fern. Eve smiled at the warrior as she took a seat nearby. Gallus and Cyrus had already been chewing absently and talking, as everyone arrived. Mira sat on a large couch and looked about, not touching the heaping plate of food she had brought for herself.

Soon, Virgil entered, laughing happily beside the portly form of Seneca. Gabrielle watched the older man. The senator and unabashed Republican was a sight of almost hydra-like proportions in this context. Having been exiled to a small island off the coast of Hispania years earlier for his tireless meddling in Imperial affairs, his attendance added an extra layer of enigma to a room that was already well-populated by outsiders, mystics and people who were supposed to be dead. He blinked happily at everyone, though Gabrielle noticed he had a tired cast to the wrinkled outskirts of his features.

Mira shuffled. Gabrielle tilted her eyes to her friend. The girl looked to the hall and back to the lounge. She popped a date into her down-curled mouth and grimaced as she chewed. Her brown eyes kept searching with their wistful quality.

"He's probably still asleep," Gabrielle offered.

Mira sat up. "Huh? Who?"

"Never mind," the warrior yawned.

Mira blinked at her friend and then turned her attention to Virgil who seemed to be acting as the host of the gathering. Gabrielle nibbled on some bread as she leaned back against the plush cushions of the couch. The poet smirked as he stood before them, instantly belittling the gravity of the situation.

"Well, here we are," he said with sure oration. "The makers of Rome and her greatest outlaws."

Seneca snorted. "I hope you're not depending on us to spot the difference, my boy."

Everyone laughed. Virgil shook his head, grinning widely. "I see all those years on a barren pile of rocks hasn't dulled your legendary wit, old man, and that is good, for we need it now more than ever."

The former Senator nodded his agreement, his eyes saddening somewhat. "Rome has certainly seen better days."

"And perhaps it shall again." Gallus rose. "To the point at hand, however. Our friends, the Elians -- while they are safe for the time being, they must depart Rome immediately."

Eve nodded. "What do you suggest, Senator?"

The young Senator indicated Cyrus. "The Phoenician traders under Cyrus have agreed to secret you and your friends from the city. They have ships waiting in the ports at Ostia. From there, they can take you anywhere."

Gabrielle tilted her head to the side. "There's no way Nero will just sit around and let us all leave the city after what happened last night."

Eve looked to Seneca. "To what lengths will he go?"

Seneca shook his head sadly, his features darkening in the filtered morning light. "Even in the five years of my exile, I have watched his mania deepen, his judgment fracture. I cannot say for certain how far he will stoop to conquer."

"There's only so far he can go," Virgil said. "No matter how insane the Emperor is, in the end he must serve the will of the people. Romans will indulge his rage only so far."

"Not if that rage is their own," Eve sighed. "It can be difficult with Romans to see where the will of the people ends and the desires of the Emperor begin."

Gallus nodded. "Agreed. Nero has already used the murders and mayhem of recent days against his enemies, wrongfully accusing and detaining the Elians, and just this morning, suspending the meetings of the Senate." A hush fell upon them at this news. The Senator crossed his arms. "After yesterday's escape, I don't expect that these moves are against the will of the people."

Virgil shook his head. "What next? Will Rome just hand him ultimate control?"

"The sun has scorched all reason from this place," Seneca sighed, rising before them. "Nero is cunning when defending himself, true, but he is far more effective and dangerous when on the attack. He is malevolently proactive, and it is important that we realize his schemes go far beyond the walls of Rome, the lands of the Empire."

"Certainly, my friend, no one would know better than yourself," Gallus agreed. "But our immediate concerns are far more pressing than the future machinations of our beloved Emperor, however unsavory they may be."

"I do not think that even Nero believes he can abolish the Senate," Virgil said. "So our first worry is still the Elians. We need to coordinate our efforts and have everyone ready to move as soon as we can."

Cyrus nodded at the poet, who in turn looked to Gabrielle. The warrior was staring absently at the detailing of the Athenian banquet table. The poet blinked, momentarily lost then turned to Eve. "We should begin the preparations immediately."

She nodded, and glanced at the reclining warrior. Virgil clapped his hands, a signal that the meal and meeting, were over. He and Eve left, heading towards their quarters, Gallus and Cyrus trailed behind. Seneca stood and moved toward the balcony, drawing his robe over his mottled skin. Leaving her plate with a thump, Mira got to her feet. "Uh?I'm going for a walk," she said distractedly and was gone.

The marble beneath her toes had become warm from the heat of her body, so Gabrielle shifted them slightly to absorb the coolness of the pale stone. Servants arrived, collecting trays of uneaten food, moving furniture, wending their way quickly and efficiently through her vision. She had trouble hearing the birds chirping outside the mansion. Everyone, everything was moving away from her, it seemed. She shifted the red robe over her shoulders and rose to her feet. Perhaps some rest would help, but she had forgotten the way to her quarters in the haze of their arrival. She sighed.

At the junction of the hall that led to the balcony, the heat and heaviness of morning fell upon her. Her bruised palm slammed upon a nearby decorative table, her arms straining to keep her upright. She looked to the nearby wall, the corner of the room, behind the potted ferns and figs; anyplace to crouch, to hide, to disappear. Her knees slammed into marble and she rested awkwardly on the floor. She put a hand to her eyes, rubbing tiredly. Her teeth ground together loudly in her mouth, the sound not able to drown out the gaping silence, the void around her. Her fist slammed awkwardly into the wall once, twice -- in time with the pound of her heartbeat.

Gabrielle rubbed her knuckles. She strained and rose to her feet. Outside she could see the rising haze, the shimmering rooftops and the cresting hills of the city. To the south, she could just make out the shadow of a plume of smoke that continued to rise over the far-off Palatine Hill.

***

Even with the heavy shutters drawn, the heat of noon was a demanding presence in Gabrielle's quarters. She sat, folded in the lotus position on a rush mat in the middle of the pale marble floor. Heat radiated from the mattress, the cabinets, the oak dressers, the tables, the silk curtains, from every corner and wall of the bedroom. Even the cool stone surrounding her provided little comfort in her richly furnished suite.

The warrior had watched thin beams of sunlight ease silently across the floor, but had yet to reach a meditative state. Sweat ran in drops along her skin as she stilled her breathing, quieted her mind. The heat, the outside world, its trappings, the memories, the aches, the pains were all intangible garments that one must shrug free, leaving the soul naked. She began stripping it all away, peeling the layers from her. But still, her soul remained bashful and aloof.

Birds cackled maniacally somewhere beyond the shutters in sharp, shrill squawks. The footfalls of servants pounded throughout the house, lost in their tasks, bounding here and there with trays and pitchers and glasses clattering away. Gabrielle even thought she could hear Virgil re-reading something he had written to himself, somewhere nearby. She sighed and shook her head.

"Come on -- you do this all the time," she said under her breath.

She wiped her brow, moving a lock of hair from her eyes. Shaking the tightness from her, she prepared herself again. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing.

Her thoughts flowed from her, trickling away in drops, in rivulets. She let them go. Pieces of everything, of the One Thing, of her, of the universe, of universes countless, spilling from her, they streamed collecting in the distance. A pool, a pond, far away from her, far away...

_Rings of water had rippled outward, splashing softly against the bank where we stood. I had always been in wonder of water; its contradictions, its dynamics, the sound of it falling from the sky at dusk, rustling the leaves, its capacity for creation._

_With the stone settling to the bottom of the pond, your hand had returned to your side, steady, strong. You talked about the past, the darkness you had thrown over the world, which I imagined as a black sheet falling slowly to the ground. I heard your words of warning, the lesson, but could only watch you, could only hear your voice._

_And was that the first time I noticed how black your hair was? Or how smooth your skin? I fell in love with you again as you spoke. I fell in love with you so often those days, every day. It was my pastime, my obsession. Maybe I didn't know. Maybe as you spoke those words and made me envious of how effortlessly and wonderfully you had made your point. Maybe as your arm had gently arced and spun the flat stone into the pond. Maybe as you breathed._

_It's hard not to laugh sometimes, especially when I think of that dress: that completely impractical peasant girl's dress that my mother had made for me. How did you not laugh at me? I knew you hated it, hated its uselessness. Do you remember that night you sliced it to pieces? You thought I didn't know, that I was asleep._

_I never slept much in those days. I used to drift off cursing that we had to turn in, that I had to be away from you for any time at all-until you started to inhabit my dreams. There were times I never wanted to wake, you used to laugh at how long I could sleep, how nothing could rouse me. Only your voice, your words, every one new and wondrous on the air, even when expressing a harsh reality learned over the course of that tumultuous life that you lived. A life that seemed so much longer, so much richer than my own had._

_-It's forever changed..._

_How many times do I remember the words? How often do I feel those stones sunk within myself? How often do I feel ripples stretching into infinity, upsetting a balance, churning and disrupting my stillness, my focus, my connection to my surroundings, to everything? How often do I feel the ripples traveling, rings unraveling becoming untenable, flattening into waves; waves spilling dead into the sea? What sort of bard am I that the rhythm of the sea is lost to me as a source, as a comfort? It's odd how I cannot remember the last time any of that had mattered..._

Eve entered the room, tentatively. Gabrielle raised her head. She sighed as she slowly rose to her feet. "It's okay, Eve. Come in." The warrior smiled. "I wasn't having much luck."

They looked at each other for a moment in silence as they sometimes did. Gabrielle tried her best not to linger on the blue eyes of her friend, instead incorporating a sullen flutter between the floor and Eve's gaze. _So much like..._

Eve broke the silence. "I'm worried about you."

Gabrielle ran her hand through her hair. "Me? Why?"

"You seem," the woman paused thoughtfully. "Preoccupied."

The warrior moved to her bed and sat on the end of it. She sighed, hating to have to lie to her friend. "Well... if you must know, I'm a little concerned that you're deciding to remain behind in Rome. I think it's irresponsible and extremely dangerous."

"Gabrielle..." Eve sat on the bed beside her.

"You know how insane it is, Eve, I can tell. You must be able to feel that something is wrong around here." The warrior motioned outside the confines of the room, beyond the city, to some distant and metaphysical place. "Even I can feel it."

"I do feel it and that is why I've decided to stay. Besides," Eve looked at her calmly. "I don't have a choice in the matter."

Gabrielle crossed her arms. "Oh? And how is that?"

"Because I've dreamt it."

The warrior furrowed her brows. "What exactly did you dream, Eve?"

"Feelings mostly, premonitions of evil. Limitless, undying evil."

"Nothing new, huh?" Gabrielle smirked.

"But there is good also, pure and endless," Eve continued. "Things are in flux and whatever is causing it is centered here in Rome."

"How does any of this involve you?"

"I just know it does. It involves all of us."

Gabrielle sighed. "I don't like any of this."

"You don't have to." Eve squeezed her hand. "You just have to accept it."

The warrior turned to her friend. "Promise you'll tell me about all of your dreams from now on."

The woman rose and moved for the door. "I promise." She paused for a moment, about to speak and then continued out of the warrior's chambers.

Exhaustion gripped Gabrielle. Hunger as well. It was hard to breathe. The warrior sighed as she rose to her feet and moved to the window, her fingertips tracing the frame absently. She felt unnatural heat leaking through the shutters as she rested Her forehead uncomfortably against the heated wood. Pain flared in her knuckles when she gripped the frame.

Turning, the warrior moved aimlessly to the center of the room. She considered resuming her meditations, but thought better of it. Pain seemed to be omnipresent. Her ribs hurt, her back hurt; she winced as she bent over a washbasin. Hair fought against the rough sweep of her hand. She sighed, head down. And this was the sum of a life: one movement leading into the next, tiring, slowing. It pressed upon her, weighed her down. She wanted to stand perfectly still when she thought of it that way.

_How did I get like this? When?_

She couldn't stop herself taking stock of so many nights sleeping on cold, hard ground. Of walking aimlessly through rain, through snow; wet, hungry, cold. The sleepless nights, the wounded nights, drunken ones slipping away unremembered. They formed this huge weight, wearing her away; thirty-six years seeping into her flesh seemingly overnight.

_I can't be like this now..._

She rubbed at her sockets, eyelids protesting in red flashes across her vision.

_Under the autumn sky in Gaul, Eve had been in high spirits. Gabrielle had watched the woman as she skipped under the red-leaved trees with Mira. The warrior almost cried when she saw the leaves, colors spilling across the quiet woods. She wiped at her eyes._

_-Some warrior..._

_Eve grinned warmly at her friend._

_-I can't think of a better protector..._

She wiped sweat from her brow with a small cloth, leaving it against her skin for a moment over throbbing eyes. The air in the room remained motionless. She threw the damp cloth at the wall, where it quietly impacted and slid to the floor. She felt feather-light now, weightless, harmless, useless. The will to act was leaving her; she could feel it and she let it go, let it run from her, trickling away. Strength fled as well; peeling from her, leaving only pain, doubt and fear.

_I don't think I can protect you anymore, Eve. I don't think I can protect any of you..._

***

It wasn't until she had finished half of the peach that Gabrielle realized how over-ripe it was. Another victim of the scorching weather, she surmised. With some difficulty, she swallowed the mealy flesh and put the sad remains down.

She slouched at a large marble table occupying a silk-canopied spot on one of the balconies at Gallus' sprawling property. A platter of half-touched food, a pitcher of water and several open scrolls cluttered the surface around her. The mid-afternoon sun seethed across the unprotected portions of the terrace, the Quirinal hill and the city beyond. She let her eyes pass over the most-recently opened scroll: a detailed map of the city of Ostia and its extensive series of ports. Stifling a yawn, she pawed it aside, letting it roll up with a gentle swish.

Everything had an unsettling stillness about it, as though buried in sand. She poured some water into an ornate mug and lifted it to her lips. The liquid left a soft film in the back of her throat. She put the drained cup down and rubbed at her eyes.

The scrolls taunted from their cool marble bed. City maps, trade routes, Praetorian protocols, troop deployments lay useless beneath her fingertips, offering up a building pressure at her temples. Mira had brought them, gifts from Virgil and Gallus. The girl had brought their expectations and hopes as well, leaving them upon Gabrielle's ever-slumping shoulders.

The warrior sighed at the thought of her friend, of all of her friends. They all felt far away, like the unknowable murk of the waking world when in the clutches of a dream. They needed direction, a plan, but there was lead in her bloodstream, it weighed down her arms, rested painfully against her tender ribs, crushed her heart. Their pleading looks only made it worse. She found it hard to even push aside the fragile parchment of the scrolls before her. Indeed, she found herself reading them almost against her will. It was impossible, even now, for the warrior to ignore the written word. The churn of language could always draw in her eye. Her gaze passed over the bottom of a scroll, over the enthusiastic sweep of hastily scrawled words set in cheap ink:

_Night fell then, soft like whispers at the tops of the trees,  
But within the heart of the Warrior Princess,  
Peace found no sanctuary, calm no quarter,  
And the darkness that fell upon the land like a blanket  
Seemed radiant beside the shade within her breast.  
Yet beyond the woods, beyond the mists of the lonely plains,  
Lay a place darker still, where memories bitter,  
And Evil without bounds lay in wait.  
But O, her mind was set and her heart proud and clear,  
She would press into the depths of the Amazon lands,  
Into the heart of darkness, the mystery of the Underworld,  
Woeful Tartarus itself, where the Styx moans,  
For not even the borders between life and death  
Could keep her from the soul of her dearest friend,  
Her beloved bard, the sun-haired Gabrielle._

Who was this child who wrote with such a bleeding pen? Who spoke so surely of life in terms of its Darkness and Light, its Good and Evil? Who possessed such clarity, such omniscience, so uncluttered a soul? Who was this with such arrogance, such pride to put anything into words, to try and hold life to any sort of promise of meaning, any form of permanence? Who was she?

The papyrus hissed as Gabrielle pushed it violently away from her. She passed another scroll over it until it disappeared from sight. Her head bowed over the parchment-laden chaos of the table. _I wasn't even there, how could I possibly have known what she felt, or why?_ The truth was bitter, but made her laugh nonetheless. Gabrielle hadn't been dead, but the Warrior Princess had gone to Tartarus and back to find her. She hadn't been dead... Where had she been? It seemed she had never known until they had found each other. They always found each other in the end it seemed. 

_Not that time..._

_So many times we kept coming back. Not that time. We acted as if nothing happened, at least for a while. We pretended, until I would try to touch the skin of your collarbone, or you would slip in behind me for an embrace. Still we tried, through the weariness, the strain._

_How tired your eyes had become. How weary your words when you passed them to me across the infinity between us. Ghosts: one in body and one in soul, tracing over the same old ground. I remember how it became impossible, as we passed pale and unseen from place to place. My feet dragging, bog-heavy over roads without names, from task to task. My dreams racing over me, holding me down in leaf-choked depths, night after night. And for you there was no rest..._

_That morning it had rained. I remember that day, in the moments before sleep. It is a gray memory: the tombs, the sky, the slant of light spinning in fragments like cinders lost in the twilight, as I passed the mute stones, statues, gnarled trees._

_That morning it had rained. This wasn't Tartarus, it was Amphipolis; bloody Amphipolis, where your whole family had died one by one. I thought it was what you wanted. You told me yourself it was what you wanted. It seemed like what you wanted._

_We tried so hard with everything else, why not this time?_

_And in the stillness of the grave I couldn't even kiss you, touch you, take you one last time. When was our last time? That night in Japa when you had clutched me to you, smell of cherry blossom, the flat mat beneath me. You knew, didn't you? Cloaked in that dark desperation, your body asking me for what your heart could not. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't care, I didn't ask. It was wonderful to trace you, own you as though my touch could save you. It was that old place, that old game we played and it felt like coming home. And here we were, your home, and nothing but words to set you on your way. I thought it was what you wanted..._

Gabrielle wiped at her eyes, the light shattering in the prism of her tears. She blinked hoping to bring the world back to her, to escape from the crush of memories. Swallowing hard could not prevent the dizziness, the nausea, that invisible impact.

Water poured from the pitcher. Focusing on it helped her. She drank it, the liquid cool in her indifferent belly. Her hand exchanged cup for quill, the ink clotted though still useable. In the margin of her old scroll she scribbled, her hand startling her, unknown to her for so long, twisted by the years, by lack of practice, by loathing, though still clear as the words:

_Regret, an absence within, black, empty, like those hollow places between the stars..._

The day was no less choking in its heat, the air no less still. She left the balcony, her red robe coughing with the speed of her steps. The scrolls remained on the table, unrolled, slumped upon each other. The quill lay bent, shattered, plumes littering the table, broken with vigorous stabs across the words she had written.

***

Gabrielle was surprisingly comfortable on her back in Gallus' garden. The heat of day floated above her in the darkening sky, but the relative coolness of the earth seeped into her skin through the silk robe. She stretched a bit, feeling her widespread exhaustion groan within. A yawn made her eyes water.

Sometimes, when she lay on the ground like this, she could return to the wonder. Beneath a tapestry of stars, she could find that farm girl who had found every moment of the journey precious, every footstep new. She could forget the yolk of days. She could forget. She could let the world spin, let the breeze pour over her, let her heart beat at a normal pace.

It was difficult: that connection, that stillness went against the current of her life, a life that was about constant motion, about collision, churning and upheaval. There was a kinship she could glean between herself and her surroundings, even the stars above her head, but not a true connection. Perhaps a bond like that shared between travelers, a common ordeal. Indeed, the stars felt like travelers to her. Drifting as they did between heaven and earth, seemingly aimless as they moved. Each with a story that she could never know, could never comprehend; only lock eyes briefly in the night, across the void and move on. And in that way, so much like human beings they were as well, unknown and unknowing, scattered like pebbles across eternity.

But it was there, the wonder, if only for a second and she didn't turn it away. Soon, it faded like an ember and was gone. She rubbed her eyes, pressing the lids roughly upon her pupils.

Footsteps entered the garden, Mira's, and light followed. The girl placed a lamp in a setting and approached. A grin spread across Gabrielle's face when her friend paused suddenly, appraising the warrior's prone position then resumed, tentatively now.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at the stars. I still do that, you know."

"Oh."

Mira sat beside her on the ground, bringing her long legs to her chest. She sniffed at the air.

"It's not too bad out here," she said. "I think there may even be a breeze."

Gabrielle nodded, not expecting the girl to see. Out upon the Quirinal, an owl offered a throaty lament. The warrior took one last look into the sky and lifted herself into a sitting position. "Mira, why did you put that scroll in with the others?"

The girl turned sheepishly. "What scroll? What do you mean?" Gabrielle just glared and her friend ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, okay. I put the scroll there, so what? It was for your own good."

"And what would you know about that?"

"A lot actually," Mira blinked. "I've been traveling with you for almost two years, but I see that doesn't seem to matter to you."

"Mira..."

"Well, it matters to me. It matters to me to see you sulking and upset. It matters to me to see you hurt and distracted. It matters to me that we have all of these people scared and depending on us and looking to you for answers and here's you avoiding everyone lying on your back looking up into the sky not willing to accept any of that responsibility." The warrior sat in silence. Mira shook her head, playing with some leaves of grass. "What happened?"

Gabrielle sighed. "Nothing?"

"That is just so much--"

"What do you want me to say?"

Mira threw the grass to the ground. "You don't have to say anything, I guess. Just put yourself here, now, where we need you." She looked away. "I thought maybe reading about her in your own words... would... well, inspire you a little, y'know?"

Gabrielle looked puzzled. "Inspire me? What for?"

"To snap out of it and, well..."

"What?"

"And maybe to start writing again."

"Mira..."

"It's really a crime that you've stopped, you know... I've read a bunch of The Scrolls and..."

"Stop."

"I think it would help with everything if you started again. You should just try it." Mira shrugged. "It might make life a little easier."

The warrior pursed her lips. "I learned a long time ago that contrary to popular belief, writing and living are two separate things." She changed her tone, trying to make the girl understand. "And right now, living is hard enough." Mira looked down. The night had gone still again, humidity settling heavy on the air. The warrior took a deep breath and put her hand on the girl's arm. "Hey, you were right, reading the scroll helped. I'm... I'm just tired. That's all."

Mira nodded. "Okay. Good. Well... get some sleep and we can work on this tomorrow, huh?"

"I will."

The girl rose to her feet, placing a hand on the warrior's shoulder. She moved toward the house.

Gabrielle sighed, running a hand through her hair. Liar?she threw at herself. The lamp was left in its setting, the seeping light keeping the stars from her vision. She lay on her back again.

There was nothing she could tell the girl that would have mattered. It would be easy for the warrior to fake her way through the next stage of things. She had been doing it for so long now, it seemed. She rubbed her temples. There was still Ares to deal with. Ares and? Her lip quivered. They were no closer to understanding any of the scope of the war god's plans than before. What could be done about it all? About Her?

Gabrielle looked out of the garden, into the vacant black beyond. With a wince, she slowly got to her feet.

_-It's really a crime that you've stopped, you know?_

The warrior rubbed her eyes.

_In some ways I never did._

_I distill countless moments of every day into words, shared with no one: the furious rainbow of a dragonfly's wings; the drag of days stretched out like some sad caravan from horizon to horizon; the wan and alien futility of my desire. I collect these, a book of lists without a reader; without a writer. The eye for it, that cold observer never leaves, only the inspiration, the will to scribble, the muse._

_I've met kings of men, queens, heroes, gods. I've watched them fall to ruin, kingdoms erode, and civilizations sputter out into darkness. I've been at the side of prophets who are elevated as avatars and martyred into deities. And never once have I met a muse, let alone my very own. Never have I sat in sylvan woods at their pale and slight feet, sated, bloated with inspiration._

_Or is that entirely true?_

_I remember the last time I worked on them, on The Scrolls, on anything -- in Japa, in Higuchi, in our quarters, on our bed. I was having trouble capturing this far off and distant land we were in, I felt as though I had to create a completely new language to be accurate, to even approach what I was seeing. You were lying on your stomach as you sometimes did when you were completely at ease, when you would allow yourself to relax. I would stop writing, my eyes would climb the fullness of your calves, the valley behind your knees, and slowly up the perfection, the strength, of your thighs as they disappeared beneath your shift, leaving only a delicious hint of what lay concealed there._

_I ran the feather of my quill against the skin of your legs, gently up, as my lips, my tongue might. Your smile flashed from over your shoulder, through a dark lock of hair. My eyes fell again upon the smooth and even surface of your thighs. I dabbed my quill in ink and softly inscribed upon your flesh:_

_-Does the muse flow the pen, or does the pen flow towards the muse?_

_Each word replaced a kiss, a caress, sliding toward the sloping mystery beneath your shift, to my inspiration. Afterwards, we laughed about the smudged ink clotted across the sheets, our skin. I was hoping you'd ask what I had written, but you never did. You never knew. I should have told you, I think you would have finally been able to appreciate the role you filled in my life. I should have told you..._

_But that is the true secret, the burden of the bards: that the stories you leave unwritten carry far more weight. What I left out of my scrolls is worth more to me now than anything I ever committed to ink: the smell of her upon me; the half-formed words cried out in her sleep; when she would allow herself to enjoy food, wine, her friends' company -- the part of her that was a woman, my part, rather than the Warrior Princess, the myth, my creation..._

Gabrielle gathered her robe about her shoulders, wrapping herself in the scarlet bounty of fabric. She entered the long hall that led from the garden to the rest of the Senator's house. Statues, paintings, pottery were placed sparsely down the long passage. Beyond, at the end, she could see the vague outline of another doorway leading into the night. 

Suddenly, as she reached the halfway point of the hallway, a gust of wind pushed through the home, unfurling the robe from the warrior's body, casting it in a crimson arc down the corridor. The breeze smelled vaguely of the sea, of rain. Just as soon as it had begun, the gust fell away. Gabrielle gathered her robe around her. She moved soundlessly into the dormant vaults of the home, to her quarters and, eventually, to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Even in the five years of my exile, I have watched his mania deepen, his judgment fracture. I cannot say for certain how far he will stoop to conquer."_
> 
> _"There's only so far he can go," Virgil said. "No matter how insane the Emperor is, in the end he must serve the will of the people. Romans will indulge his rage only so far."_
> 
> _"Not if that rage is their own," Eve sighed. "It can be difficult with Romans to see where the will of the people ends and the desires of the Emperor begin."_
> 
> \-- I don't know... Nero seems to remind me of someone, can't place my finger on it... All kidding aside, this was written in 2002-2003 and the sad part is that Nero's authoritarianism was patterned after a different President. Nothing changes. Ever.


	3. Sunlight and Shadow

Unity is against the nature of the universe.

Sunrise illustrates this concept better than anything. At night the sea, the land, the sky, all were united by darkness, blended into one. While the essence of each remained -- the sea still churned like restless dreams against the skull of the land, the sky watched indifferently from above -- night blurred them, conflating existence into a wonderful, singular mystery.

Just as in the early moments of the universe, light, with its drama, separated and neatly divided it all. Beginnings and endings were clear. Identity was plainly illustrated. Light showed things for what they truly were. And while the sun cast its rays down upon countless creations of beauty, it also passed a woeful finality; a fatal judgment upon the less fortunate, the meek, the non-malleable. The light divided, it stole as easy as it gave life, health, and hope.

Morning had cast Her out as easily as the howling and chattering things of the dark. She had been walking through the wave of night, unable to rest, to stop the gyre of Her mind. But while not discovering oblivion, She had found the sensation of being one with the darkness around Her, a comfort, a consolation. Now, as the sun rose, She found it impossible to keep charging thoughts at bay as they leapt to life before Her eyes from behind every rock, blade of grass, from out of the sea itself.

On Her knees in the long grass overlooking the seemingly endless white sliver of beach, She shut Her eyes. Maybe the sound of the sea would soothe Her, still Her somehow, as it had before. But in the darkness, the waves' roar churned fresh images, visions about Her mind's eye, wrapping Her consciousness in the ragged sway of vertigo. She was off-balance, falling. Her hand shot to the pillow of sand at Her side, but brushed cold steel. The helmet, its faceplate staring up at Her, reflected a distorted image of grass at Her feet, the sky, Her confused face. Visions swelled before Her, pulling at weakening sensibilities, pulling Her into the reflected grass?

_She was hidden amidst tall grass at the boundary of a campsite. There was a pond reflecting the sun's setting. A blonde girl walked to the water's edge, she sat down, quickly unlaced her boots and threw them on the bank. She dangled her bare feet in the warm pond._

_From Her hiding spot She could see the girl was talking to herself, laughing to herself, but the words were lost at this distance. She knew that She wanted to hear the words; but She shouldn't, She couldn't move closer._

_With the sun setting in such a slow and dreamy manner, it took a second before She realized that the girl had shed her clothes, was naked. The young woman stood with her back to the hiding place, slightly crouched as she splashed water on her arms. She then dove into the shimmering water, coming up near the middle of the pond. Rising out of the water, droplets pouring down her smooth form, sunset dancing across her skin..._

The sea fell upon the sand in gentle waves and then receded sadly, spurned, though unrelenting. Her breathing returned to normal and She glared out over the water. The black charge of clouds throbbed in the western sky, closer now than the day before. Squinting, She could spy flashes of lightning in the swirling, jet matrix. Within a day the storm would be upon the coast, within two, the heart of Rome itself.

_And where would She be?_

Had She fallen so far out of Her master's favor that he would leave Her out of his plans, out of the most crucial points of his scheme? There was no way of knowing. She had failed so utterly, so completely in Her task, how could he trust Her skills again? And yet, he hadn't scolded or raged, or showed any sort of concern over Her failure. Perhaps the visions, frightening and uncontrollable, were throwing Her judgment, Her focus. Should She confess, seek aid for the tumult within Her?

Her fingers sank into the sand between the thin blades of grass, the grains folding over Her skin...

_Weapons: a sword, knives, the chakram, Her armor on the ground, clustered together like a burial cairn. She poured earth, rich soil from the forest floor over them. The dark loam falling through Her fingers like clotted blood..._

A breeze came from across the sea, scattering the sand from Her palms. She threw the remaining grains to the ground and grabbed Her helm, rising to Her feet. Her cape clapped in the wind as She darted toward the bathhouses. She stopped. The smell of horses disturbed the sea air around Her. She broke into a swift sprint, reaching the bathhouses in less than five strides. Pressed against the weathered stone at the side of the buildings, She glided to the landward façade of the structure, peering around the corner.

Two large war chariots and corresponding teams of horses stood just away from the entrance to the first building. One of the large beasts snorted, stamping nervously at the soft earth. Voices could be heard from inside the building. Silently, She slipped inside.

Passing through the empty, abandoned rooms, Her eyes drifted over the old frescos, the mosaics, the faces and animals seeming to move in the half-light. A musty tapestry dotted with misshapen visages peered with detached imperiousness at Her, until their lips appeared to speak. She closed Her eyes from the visions and moved through the halls, using memory and sound alone. As She paused before the large chamber at the center of the building, She opened them again.

Her master's voice could be heard echoing in the expanse beyond. She leaned around the corner and peered into the gloom. Two men in ornate, black armor stood before Her master. Her hand instinctively moved for Meridian, but She noticed that they bowed before the God of War. Squinting in confusion, She listened.

One of the men, helmet in hand spoke. "All is as you have ordered, war god."

"Excellent," he said. "Now, we wait." The two armored men bowed deeply. Ares waved their supplication away. "Aw, c'mon guys, after the setbacks, it was nice to get some good news." He beamed at them. "Now get back to Rome and wait."

"We serve your will, Ares."

"And good servants you are, my priests." He smiled. "The best."

They left, passing through another hall and out of the building.

There was a specter of grit, a burning in Her eyes and they watered without control. Her throat threatened to collapse. On Her feet, backing away, She would not let it sink in, not let this enter Her sinew, Her soul. She tripped but kept moving away from the chamber, Her body enacting the denial within. She had lost Her master's favor, his trust. It was over.

Stumbling, She spun around. The faces on the tapestry met Hers, abstract, bored. Tears fell from Her eyes, passing without sensation over the metal of the faceplate. Her head shook in desolation.

"No," was all She could say.

The faces seemed to quiver, to call out. A scream exploded from Her and She ran from the building into the morning. 

In the main chamber, Ares smiled at the sound. "Man, my timing just gets better with age."

***

During breakfast, the slaves had whispered of a breeze: weak, ghostly, but damp and gently drifting from the west, from over the pondering sea. They spoke in spry hushes, as though of folk heroes or uprisings. Had their prayers been answered, they wondered as they removed empty trays from the table. Was Rome being spared at last? Would there be a rain that washed the drought from the city?

Nero had laughed to himself about it all. _These dogs jump from flame to flood without a glance, so focused on their fleeting little pleasures,_ he thought. _So unfocused on The Game..._

Across the gardens of the Domus Aurea, a haze was already beginning to hang. Rays of harsh sunlight laid claim to much of the thinly wooded spaces. Amongst the rising heat, there was no sign of this breeze that had the chattel so riled. The Emperor stretched and turned back from the terrace to his audience chamber, his short tunic uncomfortable against his skin. He was unused to wearing clothing at such an early hour, but felt that his respect for his guest's modesty important.

Waiting calmly in a large North African chair was the brushed silver presence of General Antonius Terrence, most trusted of Nero's soldiers. He held a goblet of coarse wine, the unpretentious drink of an infantryman, in his calloused hand. A plate of food, untouched of course, rested on the small table to his left. It had been a long night for the General, yet still his faculties remained firmly in place, his patience and service unwavering.

The Emperor sat on his throne. "Now Terrence," he addressed the soldier. "What is your assessment?"

Taking one final, small sip of the sludgy wine, Terrence stood to address his Emperor. "There is much to tell, Caesar. This morning's suspension of the Senate has already caused the expected grandstanding and turmoil among your detractors, Senators Darius and Flavius the most outspoken of the bunch. Murmurs of civil war have been reported among the plebeians."

"Those plebeians," Nero smirked with condescension. "Such a flare for hyperbole."

"More distressing is a report that a Republican offer to purchase the services of several Imperial legions in the backwaters of Europa has been accepted. My intelligence has the Germania, Hispania and Britannica all secretly on the march toward the city as we speak."

This caused the Emperor to chuckle incredulously, raising his eyebrow. "Oh my!"

Terrence wasn't as amused. "These legions, if left unchallenged pose a viable threat on the city, Caesar; the Praetorians would be no match for them alone."

Nero nodded. "No they wouldn't, would they? What would you recommend, my dear Terrence?" he asked.

The soldier rubbed his jaw. "Have the Italica engage them above the river Padus and bring the Augusta and Claudian to the city's gates as a last line of defense, as we discussed before."

"But wait," Nero interrupted dramatically. "We can't bring the legions in from Ostia. The Senate would never allow it."

Terrence nodded, but smiled. "With things being the way they are, you could declare a State of Emergency. The entire might of Rome would then fall into your hands alone."

Bouncing on his chair, the Emperor was obviously titillated. "How wonderfully maverick!" He ran his hand across his stubble. "A bit too soon for that, perhaps. Have an order sent to Ostia and put the Augusta and Claudian at the ready. Any thoughts on who is behind all of this?"

The General's brows furrowed at the thought. "Obviously Darius and Flavius spring to mind, but only Darius is well-connected and wealthy enough to bankroll such a machination. But no one can draw a line back to him."

"That dirty old bull," Nero spat. "And the prison break? The Elians? The destruction unleashed against the temple to the divine Julius? Any ideas?"

Terrence shook his head. "I'll admit that it seems a bit beyond the followers of Eli. Perhaps it was the work of citizens. There was a well-established support network in place. There would have to be."

"Making people disappear into thin air is one of the few things that may not be beyond them, Terrence." Nero smiled. "I'll concur though, it stinks of Roman hands. Who would take an interest in such a boring, flea-chewed bunch of vagabonds?"

"Hard to say, Caesar. I would bet heavily on the more liberal elements among the Republicans. The younger Senators perhaps."

"Yes," the Emperor pondered this. "The young lions, the fashionable, the jet set, carousing with the artists, the lepers, the literati?" He arched his eyebrow expectantly toward the older man. "Although, it does have an older, wiser touch to it, doesn't it?"

"You don't think it could be him?"

Nero smiled toothily. "Oh, but I do think it could be him."

"A delicate situation, this," the old soldier rubbed his freshly shorn chin. "You have to prove his role in this before you can proceed with any sort of bold maneuvers."

"Indeed. I've placed my best man on the job, so we're sure to see results." Nero rose and strode toward the balcony. "Now if you'll excuse me, my friend, I have an audience with the Sibylline and I'd like to steel myself." He looked out over the stillness of morning and shuddered. "Those bitches give me the creeps."

***

Gabrielle watched the old man from beneath a palm. He was crouching with some discomfort, talking to a pot of wilted flowers. Shade slouched sadly around his eyes as he peered at the shriveled plants. The warrior didn't know why, but she felt an overwhelming urge to pity the man. From what she knew of Seneca, he had lived a full and meaningful life of politics, philosophy and scholastics, a life that she might have been envious of at one point. She sighed.

The sun was gaining strength, swelling into the morning above. The old man gently caressed the tired flowers, speaking to them with obvious concern. She smiled to herself: an old man and a garden; so funny to watch something so archetypal, so right. She would never live to be his age, the warrior decided; the odds seemed to be against it. There was a part of her that could imagine a similar scene, with herself in the midst of the plant life, but it was countered by the part that was resigned to a short, brutal life and painful death, alone and scared. She smirked at her dramatics.

By the flowers, Seneca had noticed her watching him and had waved to Gabrielle with a smile. Her skin warmed at being caught spying and for wishing to be alone. Better go over? She walked resignedly toward the old man, her best grin spreading across her face.

"Hello," he called to her.

"I was wondering if your words work only on plants, or if they heal all wilting things?" The warrior indicated herself with a shrug.

"Wilting?" He shook his head, a look of incredulous protest on his face. "Nonsense. Why, if I were five years younger..." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "Well... thirty-five years younger..."

Gabrielle laughed. "Somehow, I don't think I'd be your type."

He smiled. "Perhaps, perhaps." His eyes met hers and became serious. "Something troubles you."

She nodded. "Rome never agrees with me." She smirked unconvincingly, hoping it was enough.

"You find it hard to share your burden."

_When did I become someone who fit that description?_ A bead of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades until it met and was absorbed by the fresh bandage around her ribcage. "Maybe I think I can solve things on my own." She blinked distantly. "I've had to for a long time now."

"Since your friend died." He saw her eyes harden further and quickly changed his tone. "Forgive me, when you are as old as I, manners are more often a waste of time than anything else. And time," he smiled. "Time is something you cannot afford to squander."

Gabrielle's eyes fell sharply upon his. They stood facing each other in silence. Soon, the warrior's jaw relaxed and she nodded once. He tilted his head, prepared to say something then stopped. Gabrielle felt his hand upon her shoulder; he squeezed gently. He turned to the plant again and knelt carefully beside it. "Coming back to Rome has been... painful for me as well," he said.

She crossed her arms, squinting down at him. "Has it?" He continued to fuss with the plant, removing the dried leaves. Gabrielle shifted on her feet, looking for the right time -- the polite time -- to walk away. Sweat tickled the skin of her stomach.

"I guess I worry about how this city might remember me," he said.

Gabrielle pursed her lips, somewhat uninterested. "Perhaps it won't matter in fifteen, fifty, a hundred years. Rome is just another empire waiting to fall, to disappear."

"Perhaps, perhaps." He smiled, not thwarted by the warrior's cold nonchalance. "Nevertheless, at the end of one's life, a man indulges such thoughts, forgive me. As time runs out, all one has is history, it seems, so it is natural to want to put it in order. To find 'the moral of the story.'"

A cat slunk about the balcony, moving gracefully toward the home. It slipped inside without a sound.

"If you've lived an honest and moral life, you shouldn't worry how Romans will remember you after you're gone," Gabrielle said.

"True. But failures glimmer much brighter when life's light dims. I fear I may be remembered for them rather than for any good I've done. This city is a harsh yet simple place, my dear. It worships or it destroys." He grimaced up at her, becoming distracted by distant thoughts. "How much heavier the past is here, how much more present..."

Gabrielle stared down at him, trying to feel compassion, yet finding only languid ambivalence. "Regret is just a part of living," she said coldly.

His eyes burned into hers as he rose painfully to his feet. "Regret has nothing to do with life. It is static. It is death. I regret nothing -- I feel sadness for the folly of men and my own arrogance, but never regret." His face softened. "Nor should you."

The warrior straightened, moving dangerously close to the old man. "What would you know about what I should or shouldn't feel?"

Gallus appeared in their peripheral vision and approached. An expensive robe covered his tall form and flapped with the steadiness of his stride, rather than the movement of the air. He carried several scrolls. "Good morning, Virgil wanted me to show you these." He unfurled them at a nearby table and motioned for Gabrielle and the old man to join him. The warrior's gaze remained focused the old man -- who didn't waver under its obvious hostility -- until it diffused into the familiar numbness of the last two days. They joined the senator at the table, the old man sitting beside him to the right, Gabrielle standing to the left.

The scrolls contained highly detailed maps of what looked like mountainous terrain. "Where is this?" the warrior asked.

"The Apennines. The area upon Mount Velinus." Gallus answered. "It is the center of much Imperial activity, as we speak. Our sources within the military have told us that two legions guard excavations in the area. And despite protests from some of his generals, Nero plans on keeping them there."

Gabrielle squinted down at the map. "What makes it that important?"

"We're not sure." Gallus appeared somewhat sheepish. "We were hoping you might know, or might be able to find out."

_Always to the rescue... _Gabrielle rubbed her eyes, frustration building. Before she answered curtly, she caught herself, reconsidering something. "Do you have any friends at the library?"

"Of course."

"Good, write me a letter of introduction and I'll head over there to see what I can find out about the area. Meanwhile, continue with preparations for the escape."

The young senator nodded. Gabrielle nodded at both and moved to leave, ignoring the old man's enigmatic glance and the mild irritation of guilt pooling in the pit of her empty stomach.

***

The room was almost choked with splendor, cluttered with art objects and luxuries from around the Empire. Yet the silence filled the spaces, seeping in between the gaudy clamor. Mira sat on a soft couch, biting her nails. Adorned, almost overflowing with animal skins, the couch, like the entire room itself, appeared to serve as storage that was cleverly disguised as a lounge of some sort. The girl felt lost among it all, listless.

A servant wandered by, only accentuating the lack of activity in the house. _Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Shouldn't we be out of here by now? Or at least talking about it?_ The last time she had checked, Virgil was still asleep and Gabrielle and Eve were nowhere to be found. No one had let her in on anything, of course. She sighed and poked at the half-finished plate of fruit beside her. _Would it hurt them if they let me in on things once in a while?_

She let her gaze wander through the ersatz lounge, over the rugs, the pottery, the tapestries pushed aside and stacked upon tables, chairs, couches. The writing on a scroll caught her eye, Greek, a medical text. She rolled her eyes. It made her think of Joshua.

She had searched for the boy, not sure why, for the better part of the day before -- when she wasn't searching for Gabrielle or being asked to bring something to someone. After leaving the warrior in the garden, she had gone for a walk to the stables and found her new friend. He was working among the Elians who had accompanied them to the Senator's home, tending to the sick or exhausted. Mira had offered to help, but he had shrugged her off. _Whatever..._ He seemed to be more worried about some woman, Analea or something, than anything else. Mira had left in a huff.

Everyone had their value except her, it seemed. She sighed, leaning back on the layers of skins piled behind her. _Guess I'm in the right place..._

Someone was coming. She didn't care; probably another servant anyway. A pitcher that smelled strongly of lemons was thrust in front of her face. She turned and met the dopey grin of Joshua. She gained her composure quickly, never betraying the bashful surprise she felt.

"Oh," she offered with a tinge of disappointment.

He was crestfallen, of course. "Uh... I thought you might like some lemonade."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Uh..."

She reclined. "Thank you, though."

He moved clumsily to an adjacent couch, placing the pitcher and two mugs upon a small, trinket-cluttered table and then sitting. "Where have you been all morning?"

She asserted control again, looking up absently at him as though distracted from something important. "Hmm?"

"Where have you been?"

"Here."

"That's nice. Very cryptic." He grimaced irritably. "Very mysterious."

"Yup."

He stood up and began to leave. "Whatever."

"Wait!" She grabbed his arm. "Look, I appreciate it. I..." She couldn't believe she was going to use this. "I'm just tired... stressed."

He pouted unconsciously. "I just brought you some lemonade. Not bad news."

"I know. I'm sorry. Sit down. Let's drink." She poured some out for them both.

Taking the peace offering, he sat. His eyes took in the room. "Lot of stuff."

"Yep."

Joshua nodded and took a sip. Mira looked away, then back. He shook his head. "Why isn't anyone doing anything?"

Mira nodded. "I know! I'm sick of just sitting around, not knowing what we're supposed to do next."

"Me too."

"Maybe I could help with that." It was Eve, her soft arrival and smiling interruption startling them both.

Mira stood. "What is it?"

"I have heard back from all but one of the groups of Elians hidden around the city. Something has happened to them."

"Maybe they can't send word because of all the Praetorians running around?" Mira offered.

"They're hidden nearby, to the southeast of the hill. Something has happened to them and I'm going to find out what." She seemed to reconsider something, but continued anyway. "And I wanted you to come with me. Both of you."

Mira almost fell over with excitement and elation, which made what she said next an even bigger surprise than it normally would have been. "What about Gabrielle?"

Eve's eyebrow arched mysteriously, she then shook her head. "She's attending to something else."

"We can't just take off into the middle of all of this without her help, this could be a trap or something. Maybe we should wait... or..." _What in Tartarus am I saying?_ "Or maybe I should just shut up and go with you."

Eve smiled broadly. "Everything should be fine. We'll meet Virgil along the way."

Just happy to be able to do anything, Mira didn't even hear what the woman had said. Even if this was a giant trap, at least something was happening. 

Without knowing why, her thoughts went to Gabrielle. What was it that the warrior was attending to? Mira was of the mind that Gabrielle shouldn't be left alone at all, but no one would listen and the stubborn woman wouldn't let her hang around. The girl had never seen her friend like this before. There had always been a dark undercurrent to the warrior, but it had never taken her away, washed her under like this. Mira sighed.

_Where had they been? Somewhere on the long coast of Attica, and the warrior had stopped dead at the side of the road in front of her. Mira's hand shot out._

_\--What is it?_

_Gabrielle waved her away, motioning her onwards desperately._

_\--Keep walking..._

_The girl had stammered and Gabrielle's face had swung at her like a fist._

_\--Go!_

_Tears. There had been dirty tears on the warrior's face. Why? Mira had wondered as she had kept walking. Allowing herself one quick turn, she wasn't able to see what had affected the warrior in this way. As far as she could tell, Gabrielle had stood above a growth of yellow flowers at the side of the path..._

For a while Mira had assumed that whatever it was, she hadn't been able to see it and that the warrior was protecting her from the sight of it. She had imagined mutilated children or animals or some other nightmarish display of carnage and brutality. But eventually Mira had learned that there was only one thing that could touch the warrior that deeply, that devastatingly.

Eve and Joshua separated from her, heading to their quarters to prepare for the task at hand. Mira sighed as she moved to her room. She didn't know how to protect her friend. What defense could she provide the warrior when the battle was fought within? Was fought with the past? She stopped before entering her suite. What defense could she provide when her friend didn't even want her as an ally? With a weak shove, Mira opened the door and entered the still air of her chamber.

***

Just after noon, the city slows to a halt. The air is still now, though menacing and bright. It sucks breath from the lungs, people and animals move lethargically, gasping, or pant in the grip of sleep on their beds, in doorways, lying on the street. For the next few hours there will be little movement on the main thoroughfares or in the markets. Rome is dead to the world.

_Wishful thinking_, Gabrielle laughs to herself. She is meandering near the river, the red robe brought over her face, covering her head. Her eyes are dusted with kohl, partly for disguise, but also for the protection against glare the black powder provides.

A man sleeps soundlessly, lounging in the shaded entrance of a shop. The warrior steps lightly over his legs. _Like a ghost_, she muses.

She can smell the river now; can taste its death on the air. The Tiberus is static, giving her the impression she could walk across it. Much of the river has disappeared in the drought. The paved banks are stained where the high water mark once reached. She leans upon the bridge, peering at the tired sockets of her umber reflection.

There is another face peering up, a little further down the river. Squinting, Gabrielle sees it is the pale and corroded countenance of a sunken statue. How long has it slept there beneath the dead and unmoving Tiberus? Careful scrutiny reveals an outstretched ivory hand, the hint of an arm receding into the darkness, fingers opening desperately for what -- the catacombs of air above, the sun, for the sad-eyed woman on the bridge?

Across the river, Gabrielle watches three purple-robed Praetorians emerge from a small side street. Not wishing to draw their attention, she moves purposefully toward an alley she knows leads to a small, forgotten square. In a few quick strides she has passed out of sight, into the shade of the passage. Her entrance into the tiny plaza causes an eruption of doves, which push anxiously for the sliver of sky above. Hand over her eyes; she squints up after the flutter into the stabbing light.

Absently she moves into the shaded spot and sits upon the simple fountain at its center. In this dark, almost forgotten place, there is still a puddle of water in the bowl. Peering down the alley from where she has come, the city is now lost to her, only its dusty smell lingers here. She peels the thin cowl from her face, her head and lets the shadows meet her skin. The water is cool on her fingertips. She loosens her sandals then removes them altogether, wiggling her toes in the air. The red silk rolls easily up her calves to her thighs and she slips her feet into the shallow pool. With slow strokes she passes the soothing water over her legs, splashes some on her face, rubbing the liquid across the skin of her neck. She closes her eyes and rubs the cooling muscles behind her head in a slow rhythm.

_You brought me to this place. It was my first time in this damned city. We had made our way through it all to this point. I was tired, but I would never let you know it when things were dangerous. You told me to wait for you while you scouted ahead. I watched as you passed into the alley; the dust and pollen lit by the sun formed a glow around you as you slipped away._

_Soon you returned and knelt beside me, beside the pool. You spoke of patrols and our plans as you splashed yourself with water, dust and grit caking from you---we were always so dirty, we used to laugh about it all the time. I watched your fingers push up your tanned arms, making your shoulders slick with water. My hands cupped, dripping gently on your neck and I cooled the heat there with my fingers, bringing my palm around your face to your cheek, my thumb resting upon your lip, my eyes upon yours..._

She sighs as she slips on her sandals. Her skin is cool as the moisture begins to evaporate from her body, and she pulls the robe over her face again. There is a cluster of buildings on the other side of the alley and she moves quietly toward them, then through their laneways. Cats spring from out of shaded spots, but the way is free of people. The littered clutter leads out to a tiny market, closed until evening.

Gabrielle passes the locked stalls, the shops with shut doors. There is graffiti strewn across the walls, slogans mixed with news of performances and plays. She leaves the market and follows a dusty alleyway. A man and a donkey wander toward her. She keeps her eyes down and pushes by. She hears a child's voice somewhere above, within a building nearby, lost in the upper stories of the alley.

Names of items, of people, of places are scrawled and painted upon the close walls in unimaginative Roman script. She steps past, musing that it is as though she is shrunken and passing over the surface of a scroll, lost among the words. The streets remain indecisive, leading nowhere and she does not fight.

Down a shaded side street she can hear the clatter of cymbals, the thump of drums. Pushing against the warm wall she allows herself to be pulled to the sounds, without concern for keeping her movements secret or silent. Her feet drag in the dust. Voices can be heard, many different ones, laughing, sometimes singing. Occasionally she feels as though the random shifts between song and speaking fit some sort of design she could recognize, but then they are upset and it is gone.

Soon, she comes upon a thin back alley, cluttered with paper and other refuse, and from behind a stained door, the source of the voices, music. She moves toward the portal. The voices begin their rhythmic tumble, the call and response and she smiles as realization flows through her. Her hand rests upon the door's cool surface. She shakes her head. What am I doing? Placing her ear against the wood, she nods and gives a gentle shove. It opens and she slips inside.

The amphitheater is old, run-down and smells of cheap incense and sweat. Gabrielle moves close enough to see some of the stage and nestles into a musty smelling nook that is jammed with costumes. Heat flushes through her skin, her pulse shrugging beneath her neck. She leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes.

The rehearsal is loud, informal and unabashedly joyous. She doesn't recognize the play; it sounds Roman, modern -- strong cadences, more characters interacting with one another. Then events, names begin to reveal themselves. She stands there for a moment unmoving; wondering if this is a dream. A sad grin spreads beneath her cowl as she shakes her head. Peeling herself from her hiding spot, she steps softly toward the wings. _I have to look... I have to see this..._

Actors are spread informally upon a cluttered, unkempt stage. Some sit, clutching props and pieces of scenery to them, watching the others, occasionally offering comments, constructive and otherwise to the performers. Gabrielle blinks at it all, hidden in the curtains' shadow. A woman's voice brings her out of stupor.

"As I have led so immoral a life, committed such unspeakable atrocities and spread black madness upon the world by imprisoning the noblest of Titans in Godly bindings, the task should fall into my hands, Son of Olympus, I should break the chains of Hephestus, I should raise mankind from darkness, and I should free Prometheus, forfeiting my own wretched existence in exchange." Dramatic pause. "The world can live without a Warrior Princess, but not without Hercules."

Comments trickle in: "Good, Thecla." "Much better." "Excellent!" In the wings, Gabrielle rolls her eyes. Now a man's voice booms corpulently upon the air.

"No! This is a fate I will not allow, for it is unjust in the heavens as well as on Earth. True, you once rode at the head of a thieving band, burning crops, spoiling wine, slaughtering chattel without offering, and murdering all who opposed you, but today you have thrown aside those tattered trappings and have embraced the light of goodness. I have looked upon you and am moved by what I see. There is no measure of a hero save what is present in their heart in the moment, the now." Dramatic pause. "The world needs the Warrior Princess as much as it needs Hercules."

There is a kiss that is abruptly interrupted by jeers from the chorus and the other actors. "Hercules" chuckles, lifting a leather belt over his paunch and grinning gap-toothed at the bow-legged "Warrior Princess." Gabrielle sighs. _Less than a lifetime ago and already wrong..._

A loud, monotonous voice pierces the air. "I have them! I have them! The posters." Cheers. Excitement. The warrior leans back against the wall. There are 'oohs' and 'ahs' and the requisite yips of approval. "Hercules'" boom hits the rafters.

"Hercules and the Warrior Princess. A play by Claudius Antonius promising an entertaining blend of action and romance..."

She is running now, through the door, through the alley, into the blinding sunlight, the white streets. The cobbles clack beneath the pace of her stride. She upsets more birds; they dissolve into the glare of afternoon. Across the river, over the avenues and through the large square that leads toward the abandoned Forum. She is alone in the city, it seems, but she cares not either way. Let them skewer me, boil me, nail me to a cross again. She tears the cowl from her face and breathes the scalding afternoon into herself.

As she is crossing the wide square her feet are lost beneath her and she slams into the ground. The pain in her ribs and the sudden rush of air from her lungs causes a cry to escape. She rolls over once, then onto her belly again and begins to weep. The ground is indifferent beneath her tiny fists. There is a throb from her knee that tells her it is skinned raw. For a moment she is still. Then an undignified sniffle causes her weeping to resume, more powerfully this time. The blank stones of the Forum stretch out beneath her, pressing roughly against broken ribs. Her sobs are thin on the swollen air, fading easily into the afternoon and the wide expanse of the city.

***

While it was still blistering on the shaded slope to the northeast of the Capitoline hill, one could still conduct rudimentary tasks without succumbing to some form of heat related malady. Regardless, Virgil felt the sweat being torn from his body by the thirsty air. It was drawn effortlessly through the breathy linen he wrapped about his body, across his face. Sounds in the cramped streets stabbed into his throbbing head and he winced, trying to keep pace with the shrouded figure before him.

"How much farther?" he whispered across the dust of morning and the widening gulf of his own nausea.

"Two streets east," the cowled figure of Gallus turned to answer. He grinned wryly, pausing as he took in the poet's gaunt aspect. "A tad early for the poet's soul?"

"For the poet's head, actually," Virgil groaned. "Although, there aren't hours enough to sleep this hammering in my skull away."

Gallus nodded absently, looking about the narrow street. "It's only a little further. Come on."

They wound their way through the cramped avenue into the shaded curve of Rome. Voices were hushed in the early afternoon as people skulked through the merciful shadows. Over his own ragged breath, Virgil heard the sound of pigeons taking to the air above their heads, but looking up into the light filled the corridors behind his eyes with shooting pain.

Finally they turned into a dusty alley and Gallus stopped before an aged door. He leaned the shaky poet against the wall dramatically. "You'll be safe here," he said with a mocking grin.

"Shut up and knock," Virgil rasped with a queasy grin.

Gallus rapped his knuckles three times quickly against the door. There was a knock from inside and the senator responded with two more. The portal opened and Cyrus' smiling face beamed out at them. "Come in, come in, my friends."

Virgil filed into the darkened entrance after the young senator. The stillness of the air within further disturbed his uneasy constitution. He belched cautiously, fearing worse consequences than the wretched taste of bile on his tongue. Deciding that he was safe for the time being, he continued after his friends.

The musty smelling passages were cramped with various sorts of debris; old or shattered amphorae, rotting and broken pieces of wood, moldy carpets rolled and forgotten. Virgil pulled the linen over his face, as though warding an invisible evil away, to no avail. "Gods," he cursed quietly, his stomach concurring with its own unsettled incredulity. He pressed on, following Gallus and the Phoenician -- who moved a tad too swiftly, in the poet's humble opinion.

Soon they entered a larger open space, what appeared to be a warehouse of some kind. Containers and crates of all sorts were stacked rather neatly in countless rows and Virgil followed his friends into the thick of them. Other red-robed Phoenicians worked calmly in the large space, packing and moving objects from one place to another. The sounds of hammering and sawing became more pronounced in the poet's fragile consciousness swelling against his temples with a growing pressure and discomfort. "This place will be the death of me," he sighed.

Cyrus and the senator stopped before a wide worktable upon which was a large wooden crate of strange design. The cheerful merchant patted the crate proudly. "This is our secret weapon."

Virgil blinked in a pathetic attempt to feign interest in anything else but the unrelenting duty of mastering his roiling insides. Gallus nodded. "Indeed. How does it work?"

"Watch!" Cyrus grinned widely beneath his mustache and put his finger dramatically in the air to gather his friends' attention. He opened the top of the crate. The two Romans peered into it. Its jet-black interior was filled with several empty, and rather plain-looking amphorae. Virgil looked to his friend with an air of skepticism. The young senator clucked almost imperceptibly, indulgently pleading for the poet's patience. Cyrus beamed excitedly. "Wait!" He then closed the crate, tapped it on the side twice and opened it again. Gallus and Virgil blinked at the open crate, first in astonishment, then in disbelief and finally with suitably impressed grins. The strange container was now empty.

"The old false bottom trick," the poet said. "A classic."

Cyrus tittered in delight. His dark fingers slid up to the lid and carefully opened the section containing the decoy urns. "The dark insides disguise the depth. Your friends can hide within and be smuggled to safety, right under the Praetorians noses."

"They'll be ready in time?" asked Gallus.

"Easily," Cyrus nodded.

Gallus placed his hand firmly upon the merchant's shoulder. "Well done, my friend. I'll help you with the preparations." He looked to Virgil. "What do you think?"

The poet grimaced. "I think I need some fresh air. And fast."

They found their way to the top of the building. The Phoenicians had set up a blind fashioned from canvas and silk. A light breeze cooled the shaded sanctuary somewhat. Virgil flopped upon the dusty roof and put his head into his hands.

Gallus blinked out over the city. "The breeze brings a hope of rain." When there was no response from the poet, he turned to see if his suffering friend was still conscious. "You look terrible," he concluded.

"Thanks. I appreciate that," came the muffled response.

"Don't mention it." Gallus motioned to the hazy streets sprawling before him. "Will you still be able to help Eve look for her friends out there in the stinking, boiling mess?"

Virgil lifted his head and his vision rolled slowly into place. "Of course, of course. You know me. I'll be fine," he lied, not very well. He stood after a struggle and peered over the city. "I should probably get going on that, huh?"

"Probably." Gallus nodded then scrutinized his friend. "What is it?"

"I'm going to vomit at any second, what do you think?"

"Aside from that."

Virgil shook his head. "I don't know. The Old Man, I guess. I can't help but feel that his arrival was an ill omen. He strengthens our cause, but he puts himself in grave danger, puts all of us there by coming to Rome now. Nero won't stop if he finds out..."

"He won't find out. No one knows Seneca is here who doesn't have to. Not many would remember him by face anyway; you know how distracted people can be nowadays. It's perfectly safe, and we're going to need his connections and wisdom in the days ahead."

The poet watched doves twist over the roofs of the city, appearing to ignite into white flame as the sun caught their wings. "His past with the Emperor is what worries me. It's dangerous; I've seen what such histories are capable of. Madness, insanity in the wisest among us, all-consuming obsession." He turned to the young man. "It can only lead to ruin."

Gallus tilted his head. "Nero is an extremely random and treacherous element in all of this, but surely the Old Man knows to keep his arrival absolutely secret; I am sure he is aware of the peril."

"I hope so. The city, the Empire rots, yet somehow grows stronger, like Death itself. Everything points to evil ahead, to darkness."

The senator put his hand on the poet's shoulder. "Night's darkest hour also signals the ascent to Morning's light."

Virgil nodded, a small, yet wry smile reaching his lips. "A senator with the soul of a poet? These are dark days indeed." He shook his friend's hand. "I'll see you later."

"I'll have a pitcher waiting for you," the senator smiled.

"That's not necessary, I think I'll... oh, who am I kidding?" Virgil laughed and headed down into the cool of the warehouse. _Who _am _I kidding?_ he hurled at himself.

The street was bustling when he emerged, the shadows growing longer, the shade more complete as the sun dipped further to the southwest. He leaned against a forgotten doorway and waited for his friends. Faces poured past: dirty, tired and suspicious. The poet felt vulnerable and at risk. He hadn't seen any soldiers around, but it would only be a matter of time. And what could he do against them? He grimaced bitterly. _When was the last time you picked up a sword?_ He sighed, rubbing his hand over his unshaven chin. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the building. _When was the last time you picked up a pen and it was worth a damn?_

"Hey pal, wanna buy some space in Thrace?"

Virgil opened his eyes to see Mira's smiling face beaming at him. How long had he been asleep? Any cutthroat in the city could have misused him, let alone any Praetorian. He managed a crooked grin for the girl, and for Eve and Joshua who filed in behind her. "We're ready then?" he asked, feeling a little better now.

Eve nodded. "We haven't had any luck so far. Although, we haven't been to the safe house yet."

The poet straightened and motioned to the street. "Shall we then?"

The group made their way down the sloping Capitoline streets, maintaining a loose, unassociated look to their search. Virgil would occasionally fall in line with Eve to discuss anything he may have found out of the ordinary, or would sometimes meet her gaze from over the heads of the throng and playfully wink or wiggle his eyebrows. She would laugh then quickly regain her beatific composure, shooting him a half-admonishing look.

He had always enjoyed the preposterousness, and therefore absolute innocence of the sexual tension between them, and often he felt Eve appreciated it as well. Perhaps it was liberating for her to be treated as simply, a woman. Perhaps she appreciated it for more selfish reasons. After all, there were other, darker connections that bound the two of them, and Eve's gratitude for his past clemency, silent though it was, remained a palpable component to their long friendship. _We have come a long way, haven't we?_

He ran a hand through his hair. Something momentarily caught his attention then was gone. A blue shrouded figure in his peripheral vision, one that he thought he had seen earlier, but blinding sunlight had beamed from down an alley and he had lost sight of them. _If they were even there at all,_ he thought. _Wouldn't be the first time, would it?_

Whoever the figure was, real or hallucinated, it was now gone from sight. Virgil turned about, scrutinizing every small detail on the cluttered street. People moved quickly past in the stuttering light, wrapped faces beginning to look the same. The movement threatened to make the poet dizzy, to pitch him off his feet. He continued along as best he could.

His spirits and health soon picked up as he watched Mira negotiate the crowded streets. It was obvious why Gabrielle had allowed her to tag along for the last couple of years: the girl was a natural. Alert, enthusiastic and highly skilled; Mira bore a striking similarity to a certain young bard, at least how the Scrolls -- and his father -- had described her. No matter what that bard, now warrior, had to say about it. Virgil smiled. While the warrior hadn't, and never would, overcome the emptiness and grief within her, Mira's companionship had brightened her somewhat, and for that Virgil would be forever indebted to the young woman.

The Corinthian girl was also providing some excellent entertainment as she did her very best to ignore the rather smitten Joshua, while maintaining a near perfect camouflage of her own interest in the young man. Ah, the dance of Love, he sighed to himself with a smile. Eve wandered over to him. "What are you smiling about?" she asked.

"Eve, my dear we are witnessing the beginning of a beautiful friendship." He chuckled.

Eve smirked. "Poor Joshua. He's really out of his league, isn't he?"

"Deliciously."

They laughed. Eve led him around a corner and pointed to a plain looking door at the end of an alley. "That's it there." She then turned and called out to Mira and Joshua to turn around and join them. Virgil looked around, trying to find the two smitten teens. Instead, he noticed a group of dangerous looking men, cloaked in black striding purposefully toward them. Never a good sign, he thought. "Uhm? Eve?" Virgil turned to see another group striding toward Mira and Joshua, cutting them off.

The men brandished fierce looking war clubs and began to charge. The poet lunged for a nearby broom as two of the black-cowled men attacked. Hoping to avoid an overhead attack, Virgil left the broom alone and tried to roll past his assailants, but ended up crashing into one of them instead.

He hit the ground hard, not sure if he took anyone with him. Rolling onto his back, he narrowly avoided a crushing blow and threw out a kick at his attacker's mid-section. Virgil bounced to his feet and elbowed the doubled over man in the back of the skull, sending him to the ground. Lucky, he thought. These men appeared to be highly skilled warriors, he had only exploited a mistake of arrogance, there wouldn't be many more opportunities to do so again he assumed.

To his near right, Eve kept two of the men at bay with a strong defensive stance. His other assailant moved between them and swung for the poet's ribs. Spinning desperately, Virgil moved out of the man's reach and grabbed the broom. His stomach protested as he came to a stop, his vision blurring in concordance. _Gods..._ He back peddled, swinging the awkward weapon. A blurry black shape descended upon him and he brought the broom up in front of his face. Although he had tried his best not to, Virgil closed his eyes. There was no impact, just a dull thud. He opened his eyes. Eve stood smiling at him.

"Keep an eye on the others," she said and engaged another of their attackers.

"Wait! Eve!" But then another was upon him. He swung the broom, smacking the man in the side of the head. Virgil was dizzy and breathing heavy. He couldn't remember the last time he had engaged in physical combat. His vision began to blur, fade. Blood buzzed in his ears along with the pound of his heart. Was that his father's voice he heard?

_Fishing on the river behind the farm. He was four. His father wanted to help him make a rod, but he wouldn't have it. The knots weren't tied tight enough, but he knew no better. They had left the lines in the brook, his father's on the left, his on the right. When they had returned, his line had been dragged off and his father's had a bite. "Look! You got one!" his father had said._

_So effortless his father's goodness, that Virgil often missed it when the man was alive. Now, the memories of it made him feel less and less of a man..._

There was yelling and someone shaking him and why was he on the ground?

"Virgil? Wake up! Hurry!" It was Eve.

"Huh?" He said stupidly as he lifted himself up.

"Praetorians, Virgil, we have to run."

Around them people were scattering, including the black garbed attackers. He could hear horn blasts marking the approach of a squad of Praetorians, no doubt alerted by the skirmish and keen to break it up. The poet got to his feet and Eve steadied him.

"I'm okay," he said. "Just lead the way."

They began to run down the main street and soon cut down several alleys. Behind him, the sounds of steel clashing and voices raised in battle rose into the afternoon air. He hadn't the stomach to turn and see if anyone was chasing them. It wasn't until they had come into the sun of the southern end of the hill that Virgil realized that Mira and Joshua were nowhere to be found.

***

Like everything She knew about Herself, the memories led only into darkness. Sprawled here in the half-light, eyes closed, She struggled for them and they slipped away, unknown to Her. This black void within seemed to swallow everything, leaving only the present, unraveling and indefinite.

Her hands clawed into the dirt, skin tearing against the jagged earth. The floor of the place was cold upon Her cheek. A compulsion, wild and irrational, possessed Her then to tear away Her breastplate, Her underclothes and sink fingers into flesh, eviscerating, scraping away at it all to get at those lost bits, to plunge into that void. She grit Her teeth. It was hopeless.

And now a new darkness, menacing and pure skulked there. It poisoned thoughts, purpose and action. It scorched black the hollow parts of Her, choked reason. Her stomach churned. Her eyes pounded. It threatened to erupt from Her at any given moment. And it was growing stronger.

Was it fear? Was it that most contemptible of all emotions? The weakest weakness?

"No."

Her voice was pebble-small in here. It echoed softly in the shaded chamber. But that it sounded was affirmation enough of the verity of Her realization.

She smiled then. This wasn't fear; no, not this that curled itself within Her womb, Her marrow, Her bones. Not fear -- this uncontrollable darkness, this black tide that churned in Her blood -- not fear, but wrath. Wrath, that stinging, acrid swell that began at the feet and pounded through Her, around Her, wielding Her; pitching Her wild like a burning spear, a smoldering bolt into the quivering ether. Wrath flowed from Her heart; and those parts lost to Her when still, when silent, drank from its flood.

The recognition, the naming of it brought a flood of memories to Her from out of the unknown. Her dark twin had found this darkness familiar as well, had been under its rapture, had fought its seduction throughout her life. She stilled Herself; Her palms flat upon the cold dirt. She breathed raggedly. Air struggled to escape Her lungs, thrashing wildly past Her lips. She kept Her eyes closed tightly, Her body trembling against the ground.

_Light loses to shadow here; it is no surprise to Her, no tragedy. This is not a place She cares to visit, but She must, now more than ever, now at the end._

_The air won't move in here because this is a crypt. She feels like so many things are choking her where She stands -- regret, sadness, frustration, anger-lined up, gnarled-fingered in the dark._

_It all began here, where his life ended. He had been only a boy; She had been only a girl. Now he would never become a man and She had become a woman far too soon. It was here She had first felt darkness, because it was here that light began its exodus from Her life. Now, years later, it was truly gone; She need only admit that to Herself, give in. There were no second chances._

_Light loses to shadow here; it is no surprise to Her, no tragedy._

_She placed Her hand on Her brother's grave, talked to him, but She was alone, alone in the darkness._

_-You're not alone._

_A voice behind Her, from the doorway, the daylight. Who...?_

Her eyes opened. The half-light of this forgotten place seemed different than the crypt in the memory, but She couldn't remember. Those differences evaded Her, slipped back into the void, unattainable. She got to Her feet, Her eyes wide. The coarse space was stuffed with rough-hewn statues of an elapsed era, a graveyard of gods, the forsaken. And just like them, She had fallen out of favor, had been tossed aside. Her master's plans had moved beyond the bounds of Her dedication, her abilities, it seemed. She refused to believe it, the darkness wouldn't allow Her to; it writhed beneath muscle, throbbing behind Her eyes. Meridian quivered wantonly in its scabbard.

With a cry She freed the blade from its place of rest and ran it singing through the tired likenesses, cleaving and shattering them. Sparks lit the space in nightmarish flashes. Soon the statues lay ruined upon the floor of the chamber leaving Her standing alone in the dark once again.

She smirked, Her eyebrow rising in a devious arc. Perhaps Her master could be made to understand the true depth of Her dedication -- and failing that, the terrible totality of Her skills.


	4. Penumbra

The incense was a tad on the sweet side, bringing to mind a spoiled persimmon, or the crude and cheap fragrance of a whore's bath. It was also quite smoky, pitching a lazy and dusty fog throughout the dimly lit chamber. Nero did not relish the idea of the aromatic soot settling on his royal vestments and making him smell like an old slut or an over-ripe fruit. He stifled a chuckle at the double entendre and the vivid and apropos image it conjured.

Agrippina, the head priestess, began her chant again. From deep within, it spilled out of her formless, almost inhuman. Somewhere between a low and a moan, the Emperor decided. The deep tone resonated, resounded and reverberated. It rose to the high ceiling of the great hall and settled there, not unlike the clinging remains of the tacky incense.

Gnosis, Agrippina had called it. A state where the mind is opened, free of the shadows of this world and laid bare before the true nature of things, the world of Forms, the Eidos. She had spoken of a sublimation of all time, a temporal and physical synaethesia, a unification of everything the only state where prescience on the level that the Sibylline practiced it, could be achieved.

In other words: total horse shit, Nero laughed to himself. While the Emperor couldn't deny the eerie accuracy the priestesses of Sibyl wielded with their prophecy over the generations, he tended to disregard any of the more negative ones. So what if they had predicted his uncle Julius' fall? They had not given him any advice on how to stop it from happening, no direction as to from where the threat came. Nero found knowledge of the future far less useful than the wisdom the past taught. Caesar's folly had been to turn his back on the senate, a mistake akin to turning one's back to a pack of ravenous wolves. It was a mistake Nero would never make.

The two younger acolytes, feline and lithe, moved to light the large torches between which the chanting form of Agrippina stood, and then the low, circular brazier before which she sang. The Emperor had always admired the Sibylline flare for drama and presentation. The older woman raised her face to the Emperor, her eyes lost in the trance. For an older bird, she certainly had a lithe and supple figure, and an ample and inviting bosom that Nero found himself focusing on through the priestess' sheer silks. His tongue passed slowly along his cracked lips and he sipped disinterestedly from a goblet of wine. The younger priestesses took up the chant, the trio of voices slowly melting into one haunting tone that swelled within the chamber. Nero watched the older woman's breasts as they heaved marvelously with every sharp intake of breath.

Soon the acolytes broke off from the incantation and brought the still intoning Agrippina a small bag made of black silk. As her mantra boiled forth with renewed fervor, rushing like a ghastly wound, the priestess thrust her hand into the noir unknown. Nero did not blink, but leaned forward in anticipation, a thin film of sweat building upon his upper lip, he leaned forward in anticipation. With a look of triumph, the woman cast three small objects into the fire of the brazier before her, where they disappeared into the flames.

Damn, that was good, Nero whispered to himself in appreciation.

Agrippina had her back to the brazier and was walking away. Her shoulders slumped somewhat, leaving a palpable sense that the state she had achieved earlier had left her body once the objects were cast into the fire. She turned, just as one of the young Sibylline approached the brazier with a pair of long tongs. Nero watched as the young girl, her face cast in the nimbus of orange light, thrust the instrument purposefully into the flames once, twice and again, each time placing a small, red-hot rectangle of metal upon the small table that the other acolyte proffered and then set upon the floor. They dropped upon the surface and glowed, pulsing.

"The Sibylline runes," Agrippina spoke. "The Engines of Prophecy..."

"Spare me the drama, you old crow, and get to the prediction." While Nero feared the eccentric oddity of the Sibylline, he was certainly not afraid of their wrath.

The woman, while obviously not impressed with his audacity, smiled with grace and moved to the tray that held the runes. She took a small phial and poured a dark looking liquid upon the runes, all the while softly reciting a prayer. The rapidly cooling metal hissed as if in pain or ecstasy. Agrippina's eyes scanned slowly over the tiny tablets, lingering upon them, as though each spoke to her alone.

Nero had seen the ceremony many times, knew what was to transpire. Each rune revealed its secret, its symbol, cast in a faster cooling metal for but moments only. Afterwards, the three ciphers and their order of casting would be compared against the great Sibylline books and some sort of forecast divined. Then it's up to everyone to try and make it fit into reality and hope that I buy it, the Emperor rolled his eyes.

Agrippina drizzled the remaining liquid upon the final rune, then handed the phial off. She stood tall and spoke to the ceiling, more than to anyone in the room. "The first portent is Earth: the Mother, history, the realm of ash."

Nero blinked, lost within the sweep of the woman's revealing robes.

"The second portent is Fire: the Father, the forge of the cosmos, Truth."

One of the young priestesses transcribed the symbols onto a scroll. There was a delicious tension that built as the final rune was about to be revealed, the Emperor was at the edge of his seat. "The final portent is The Void: chaos, the Underworld, Chance."

Agrippina's hands fell to her side and she smiled strangely up at the Emperor. He stared down at her then blinked expectantly, until finally he sighed with impatience and demanded, "Well?"

"Caesar... we need time to consult The Books and meditate upon the reading," the head priestess offered in her odd tone.

"Each reading must be weighed against star charts, auguries, and other... contexts," one of the younger ones continued.

"It would be impossible to give you an accurate reading right now, Caesar." The third finished the thought.

Nero stood, smiling warmly. "Well, how about an inaccurate reading, then?"

"It is just not done," Agrippina smiled apologetically. The other two shook their heads, mirroring her patient smile.

"Neither is a public skinning, but that can always change. Now," the Emperor smiled dangerously. "An inaccurate reading."

The Sibylline exchanged anxious looks, the two younger ones bowing their heads before the mercy of the Emperor. Through the tufts of incense, Agrippina grimaced, but then thrust her hand into the air, pleading for a moment's patience. She closed her painted eyes and bowed her head. Her voice had a strangely even tone to it as she crafted the prophecy:

_"Sifting lands reveal powers once lost,  
Bearing Rome's destiny upon floods of flame;  
Olympus' rebirth is nigh  
In the gaze of the pulsing Eye,  
Casting the enemies of the Empire into darkness  
Where only the dead can save them."_

She slumped forward then looked to one of the young priestesses for confirmation that the divination had been recorded. The girl nodded. Agrippina looked up at Nero. The Emperor clapped his hands. "Well done," he smirked. "It's amazing what the threat of open mutilation can do to speed the process of foretelling. Perhaps I'll write a treatise upon it. You will join me later, won't you, priestess?"

"Caesar?"

"Your prophecy is most intriguing, we're all quite impressed, but I'm afraid one thing remains."

"Yes?"

"What in Hades does any of it mean?"

***

In the cavernous yawn of the library even silence echoed, radiating in dull waves that filled the chambers and corridors with a wandering hum. The hush asserted itself, as an active entity within the high stone vaults rather than a passive and encouraging platform upon which one constructed rational, even thoughts. Scholars and students found themselves clutching the constant and comforting smell of papyrus as an anchor for their concentration, a ward from the erratic quiet.

Only a few Romans had braved the scald of mid-afternoon, their sparse scattering magnifying the already cavernous bowels of the building. Any who had come found the library, if not wholly tranquil, at the very least cool and peaceful. The bright marble walls, ceilings and pillars swallowed both sound and heat with equal vigor, so that those who came to escape one found themselves thankfully spared from the other.

Gabrielle thumbed the collection of scrolls and maps before her yet again. She rubbed her eyes. Thus far, her investigation into the history of Mount Velinus and the area surrounding it had proven quite fruitless. At best, she had discovered that the land had been important to someone at one time or another. Brilliant work?

A map, the oldest the librarian could find, stretched out before her. The words 'Mt. Velinus' lay obtusely on the dull parchment in early Latin script. Whatever the significance of the region, the mountain, it had faded by the dawn of the Roman republic.

To further complicate matters, there appeared to be no information or account of the civilization that had occupied the area before the Romans had risen to prominence. As far as she knew and she knew very little to be truthful the Romans hadn't conquered the Italian peninsula, so much as they had filled the vacuum left by its former rulers. None of the documents elaborated or even discussed this period, this race of people; Roman history was a tool of the Empire, malleable and revisionist at best.

_Gods, I hate this place..._

Her eyes were tired. She went over the last six days in her head: the murders, the drought, the heat, the civil unrest, the persecution and arrest of Eve and the Elians, her battle on the Palatine hill. Caesar's temple: what she had seen and who. Her hair seemed to resist her fingers, tangling about them at the knuckle.

The librarian Livius approached, cheerfully carrying an armload of scrolls. He had been doting upon her ever since he had somehow discovered her identity, her former life as the Bard of Poteidaia. Perhaps Gallus had mentioned it in his letter of introduction, it seemed like a card he might play. The library even had copies of some of The Scrolls; Latin translations, as well. Livius was even working on one himself.

_\--I found Teranus far too unimaginative with your adjectives..._

The warrior had tolerated his obsequiousness to gain the information she sought. With a sigh of joy, the older man laid the scrolls upon the table. "These will definitely be of service to you." He smiled in triumph.

"More about the area?"

He shook his head quickly with a fey enthusiasm. "About the goddess, Nemesis. Quite old accounts, actually. I had to go into the sub-sub-basement for these." His overzealous laughter faded when not shared by Gabrielle.

"Thank you," she said quietly. Livius remained nearby. Gabrielle nodded to him. "That will be all."

He was crestfallen. "Very good. I'll continue my search for anything regarding Mount Velinus... and whatnot?"

She stared at the scrolls in their cases, their bindings. Her hand, almost of its own volition, ran over them as if to erase all that they could hold within. Beneath her fingers, their supple surface sent a strange chill through her. They were crafted from skin, probably sheep, an old technique, an ancient one. She drew in a deep breath, holding it for a long moment. The bindings creaked as she unfastened them, her fingers traitorous, shaking.

Most of them appeared to be scribed by worshippers of the Assassin of the Gods, consisting of prayers, devotions, and descriptions of dark retribution. Gabrielle skimmed many of the supplications to the 'Crimson Huntress,' 'Lady of Pain,' and 'Olympus' Dark Instrument.' While rich in language, the entreaties were light on any real information. She continued through them.

Minutes pulled free of the day, translucent as layers of skin, falling away unnoticed. She read, even after pain shot through her eyes. The tide of words roiled over her, pulling her from herself, to some far off center, perhaps to the answer, or to the true question.

A somewhat damaged scroll told a tale of the 'Fall of Nemesis,'

_We speak now of the arrogance of the Tarquins,  
And of the Wrath of Olympus  
Rained down upon their high stone towers.  
Of how their greed harried even the most steadfast of Zeus' servants,  
And how she was ultimately punished._

_From Kalkidike's depths they pillaged the Forge God's most powerful handiwork,  
Spiriting it across the rolling Adria to their mountain city.  
There it lay, swelling their power, their Empire._

She blinked intently at the flowing passages. The Olympians didn't take kindly to the outrage. Zeus' anger crashing across the heavens, as it was wont to do. And when it proved unsuccessful against these Tarquins, he unleashed Ares and his armies upon the thieves. After a lengthy and deadly siege, where the "War God's wrath fell impotently against the walls of the great city," (Gabrielle couldn't help but smirk) Zeus had but one choice left:

_It fell then upon Nemesis, the Dark Instrument of Olympus,  
The Sword of the Gods, to win back the Eye.  
In the halls of Olympus, Zeus spoke unto her:  
"Child of Vengeance, strike now the defilers of Hellas,  
Punish the greed and lust of the Tarquins,  
Whose appetite for power is a sin against Nature._

Here there was a lengthy passage expounding the prowess of the divine assassin, then an account of her travels (and many, many detours on the way) to the mountain stronghold. Eventually she arrived and proceeded to expertly survive the many treacherous traps and mysteries of the Tarquin fortress, until finally finding herself face to face with this enigmatic, and frustratingly vague, "Eye:"

_With the prize within reach, she paused,  
Considering the words of Zeus.  
"All who desire this treasure thus,  
Do so out of the sin of greed and obsession.  
Even the cravings of Olympus, of Zeus himself are errant,  
For is it not the lusting of power that moves them here?"  
Torn, the Lady of Pain could not decide how Retribution might best be met that day.  
She left the city and remained upon the peaks overlooking, pondering it all._

The warrior smirked. _Interesting twist..._ Zeus sent first Hermes, then Apollo and finally, appeared to her himself to get to the bottom of it all:

_And so Zeus lighted upon the lofts of the mountain.  
Seeing how she fared, he spoke: "It falls upon you now  
To do your duty, child, and stop these villains  
From using Olympus' power to their own end.  
In time, with its secrets, they would threaten the Gods themselves._

Nemesis and the king of the gods debated, at length, about the intentions of both the Tarquins and the Olympians, and how Nemesis might best appease her own fierce sense of duty and the mandate she embodied. In the end, Zeus threatened her with destruction if she did not obey him and left in a flash of lightning.

Then the assassin did a curious and absolutely incredible thing: she tumbled the peak of the mountain upon the Tarquin city, satisfying the vengeance of Olympus and her duty but also putting the "Eye" out of everyone's reach, seemingly forever, and in so doing, simultaneously proved the greed of the Gods as they scrambled to recover their prized possession. Both Ares and Apollo were unable to find their way through the ruins, the Tarquin traps still in place. Miraculous! Gabrielle chuckled to herself, with a roll of her eyes.

The rest resolved itself, as one would expect when one had a background in both epic historical accounts and dealings with slighted Olympians:

_Zeus unleashed the wrath of the Furies,  
Across the rippling continents they gave chase.  
As did the twin hunters, Apollo and Artemis;  
The armies of Ares; Even gentle Hephestus took up the pursuit._

And finally:

_Upon the rocks of the dark Northlands  
Was her blood spilled, her last breath spent  
Uselessly upon its black soil._

Gabrielle leaned back and sighed, letting the scroll gently furl upon itself. _Familiar tale..._ Just out of reach stood a half-scale statue of Zeus, a relic from Hellas, brandishing a rather meager looking lightning bolt. She glared at the likeness, wondering how she might snap its head free without drawing undue attention. In the end, what does it matter? Her eyes rolled beneath her lids, her knuckles massaging, throbbed against grit coarse as sand, desert sand...

_I had thought the fortress a waking dream, a vision. So long without sleep, riding over sand dunes that folded like a magician's hands, lulling me into an acceptance, a longing for illusion. But you rode hard for it and I followed._

_Three days southeast of Damascus they had brought the heavens down upon us, the air splitting apart, tearing like sheets of cloth. Flashes of light and explosions, fire, heat, rocks spilling like water; the horses had cried, but Eve had not. There were tears in my eyes, too, though I cursed them. Her face would light up between flashes of lightning, as though you carried a tiny moon upon your back, round, pale, leading me through darkness. I remember laughing about that once, during the devastation, my mirth lost, like my horse's footing in the capricious sand. For two days they hadn't stopped, and neither had we._

_Then, beyond the oasis at Kharga it had come to an end. Leading the horses through the desert canyons, I remember the silence, the yawn of it, as disconcerting as the violence of the past days. Up ahead, you led Argo quietly over the broken shale and would turn offering a soft smile, a whisper to the girl, her hand opening and lighting upon a cheek, your lips._

_Then finally, after putting two more half-slept nights behind us, the fortress. The keepers had been kind, had been instantly taken by Eve, by you. They had fed us, let us bathe, made beds draped with linen and silk. I had been taken by a sleep so complete I had forgot the veiled trespass of my waking life, and when I was finally released from darkness, it was as though I opened my eyes from beyond the grave resurrection once again?_

_I found you in the courtyard, letting the women fuss and fawn over Eve. Pointing out how puffed out and proud you were had crossed my mind, but I had a feeling your pride would never allow yourself a luxury such as that again, so I only smiled when you turned to me._

_They had, of course, found us. Cries in the night echoed across the walls, then the first explosions but you had already got to your feet, had Eve against your breast. The fortress had shattered against the pummeling night, green fire twisting the battlements free from their foundation, sending them to the earth as dust and debris. Screams came as frequent as the flashes, the dark conflagration, the lightning, then less frequent. I had followed you, wending through shattered ground, bodies, animals howling as things came apart. We had found cover, in a small space beneath a tumbled silo, and lay there our cheeks touching, and Eve sheltered between us._

_Eventually the explosions, the tremors, the screams died away and all that filled my ears were the sound of my blood and your breathing. There was no rest, we fled into a nearby oasis, belly down on the muddy riverbank as Olympians walked through the embers of fortress, looking for our ruins. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, they were gone._

_No one had survived. All had either fled the destruction or become a part of it. The rough practicality that moves you past such things, such moments allowed us to carry on without distraction. You had decided that we could remain there, as though we were a part of it as well. It couldn't hurt to let them think they had won._

__Dead again_, I had joked and you laughed._

_Not much remained standing. The walls had tumbled and most of the buildings were ash and rubble. Although gutted, a battlement remained intact and we used its base as shelter. How long had we stayed there, among the ruins?_

__Almost a life_, you joked. I had tried to laugh._

_Eve would sleep in the grass, mimicking the stillness death had cast around her, as a protest perhaps. I caught up with my scrolls, sitting among the scrub and dust until you would come and pluck me like a flower from the rubble, pressing me hard against you._

_I had decided that there might be objects of value to us in the obscure bowels of the ruin. You had told me not to climb up the tower, and I (of course) had not listened. The rope secured itself around something stable somewhere in the darkness above, and I had tied the other end about my waist. Hand over hand I climbed, the rope leading into the black above me. After a while, entombed in the absence of light, I felt as though I were moving down, the rope descending into water, or murk. Soon, I neared the top, my hands, feet clutching tattered beams, remnants of a floor. The acrid smell of scorched wood filled my nostrils, the back of my throat. As I set my weight upon the floor, a snap shuddered in the darkness and I was pitched backward. I fell quickly, soundlessly toward a torch's light far below._

_The rope jerked sharply, but I had been prepared. Eve giggled in surprise from your arms. You smiled up at me, lips cast smugly in the torchlight._

__\--I slipped...

\--Mm-hmm...__

_I hung limply above your head, above the floor. You shoved my shoulder, spinning me gently around, once, twice, again my arms extending out, but not as far as our laughter in the darkness..._

Gabrielle rubbed her eyes, blinking wearily into the chamber before her. Sunlight stormed through the thin windows of the library, gouging bright chasms into the floor, casting the space beyond into deep black. The world outside was white flame, calcimine and hostile, searing the shade of the room into retreat.

The warrior lolled her head with a tired turn toward the exit. The shade of the room hardened against the white light, setting around her, heavy and unmoving. Must and dust from the shelves, the scrolls, clogged her breath, choked her. Her legs twitched. She did not move. Closed eyelids offered no solace, no sanctuary. When she reached out for the numbing edges of sleep, she found no rest, only its exhausting pull. With a sigh, she took a scroll from the pile, unfurled it disinterestedly and resumed her reading as silence and light creeped around her.

***

Smoke continued to rise, black and twisting above the pale edifices of the Palatine hill. A faint western wind dispersed it hundreds of feet into the sky, casting it out over the expanse of the city. White birds, flotsam before the murky cloud, circled aimlessly as though lost, flying grimly into its roiling folds as though possessed of some dark and tragic compulsion.

The God of War watched from the balcony of his temple at the crest of the Capitoline hill. He watched the smoldering remains of Caesar's shrine belch smoke into the sky. Watched, as a brigade of soldiers moved chunks of rubble that included the shattered marble head of the Divine Julius, smudged and pocked from the blaze. A smug grin spread upon his face as he watched.

"Nothing personal, buddy," he said. "At least, not on my end of things."

Nearby, on the shaded side of the Capitoline, he could hear alarm horns being trumpeted, Praetorians called to arms. Regular citizens moved nervously through the streets, speaking in hastened and hushed tones, averting their eyes. Dogs barked, crows cackled and everywhere was the heat, oppressive and cruel as the sun reached its blistering zenith. His smile widened.

A flash of light signaled the uninvited presence of his sister. "Tsk, could it be any more brighter out here?" She squinted in annoyance. "Gee bro, looks like your version of hot n' sweaty ain't anything like mine. Can't you turn it down a bit?"

Ares didn't turn around. "What do you want?"

"Don't be too happy to see me," Aphrodite smirked. "Y'know, if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't have anyone to gloat at. Then where would ya be, huh?"

"Yeah, because I just love these little 'pop-ins' of yours," he spat back in irritation. "Just cut to the chase, sis, okay? I'm a busy god here."

"Okay." The Goddess of Love straightened with a weary sigh. "What you're doing is not going to work and I think you should stop it."

He turned. "Hmm... maybe I should. Oh, wait a sec--NO!" His eyes smoldered with menace. "What would you know about it, anyway?"

"Look," she paused. "It's getting hard to know what side I'm on."

Ares raised an eyebrow. "Why the weak stomach all of a sudden? It didn't seem to bother you before when we..."

"I never supported this," she raised her voice, face flushed, but soon, the vigor of ire receded, leaving only a weary pall of black resignation. "You needed my help. You're my brother. What else could I do?"

A triumphant smirk crossed his lips. "Exactly. So what's the problem?"

"Don't you get it?" She blinked sadly. "I can't let you keep torturing my... my friend. Not like this."

"Friend? Friend?" Ares stepped toward her in quick, powerful steps. "Some friend. Where has she been for the last, what? Twelve years, is it? That's a long time in one of their stupid little lives, in case you didn't know."

"Do you blame her?"

"No," he smirked contemptuously. "No, I don't. Why should she visit you?"

Her eyes closed tightly at this, but soon Aphrodite raised her chin. "She will now."

"What?"

"She's smart Ar,' she'll put it all together and when she does she'll come and see me."

Guardedly, Ares stepped back. "When she does," he pointed a finger before her face. "You just better remember where your loyalties lie, sis."

Light from the pitiless sun softened against her, breaking, parting into two halves that competed for which best illuminated her beauty. Normally such fancies were appealing, tickling the shallow parts of her like moonbeams sinking into a ghostly lake, but she felt nothing here. Her beauty held no interest for her right now, only mocked what trembled below the skin. In a flash of light, she disappeared, leaving the God of War to watch the rising black smoke alone upon the sun blanched battlements constructed in his name.

***

Running through the streets was taking its toll on Virgil.

Rather, being chased through the streets was taking its toll. As he struggled to keep the sure-footed (and surprisingly speedy) Eve in sight, his resolve to do so became obscured in a haze of dizziness, pain and dread. Harsh sunlight assaulted him from around every corner, searing his already throbbing head, as he whipped past open streets and then back behind the shade of tall buildings. His chest burned and his breathing labored weakly. With a wince, he pushed all thoughts of stopping from his mind.

They were passing quickly to the sun drenched side of the hill, out into the heat and choking dust with a group of Praetorians still following within sight. The buildings, the thoroughfares spilled more and more light as they sped through. Virgil narrowly avoided a man who stepped without looking from his home onto the street. "Sorry!" he called out over his shoulder.

Eve turned to see where the poet was in relation to the soldiers. While still far enough away, the four men appeared to be gaining ground. She decided to slip down a sliver of an alley, streaking past sparse refuse and scattering birds to the old fence at the end, which she leapt with little difficulty. Landing softly, she could only hope that Virgil would (and could) follow.

As the poet darted into the alley after Eve, arrows splintered against the wall behind him. He pushed down the thin passage, speeding up to get the proper momentum to hop the fence. He spotted Eve climbing to a balcony across the yard he now found himself in. With ease, she continued up another until she sprang to the building's roof.

"She means to kill me," he muttered. In the alley behind him, he could hear the soldiers, their armor clanking with rapid determination toward the fence. "If they don't first."

He sprinted toward the low hanging balcony he had seen Eve alight and threw himself upward. Landing gracelessly, he was still able to hoist himself up onto the landing and then to the next balcony just as the first Praetorian came over the fence in the yard below. As he prepared to dash onto the roof, he spied a rather large pot that housed a tiny lemon tree. With a grin, he nudged it over the edge onto the heads of the gathering soldiers below. "Whoops!" Spilling onto the brightness of the rooftop, he could hear the piercing shatter of pottery and the pain-wracked yelps as the missile found its mark.

Eve pitched herself from the roof over the narrow drop and onto the next building. With hanging jaw and squinting eyes, Virgil watched her land with ease and sprint toward the next jump. "Insane woman," he said under his breath. "Just like her mother. Mothers. Whatever!"

Gathering himself, the poet tore off toward the gulf and sprang to the next roof, landing a little hard, but still on stride. He let his momentum carry him, though his legs felt as though they could collapse below him at any moment. Striding powerfully, he almost felt heroic. Almost?

The city streaked by as he went, a blur below him as he leaped from the rooftop again. He thought of Mira and Joshua, captured, or scared down there somewhere. His feet slammed into the tiles of the roof, giving way beneath him. The poet skidded painfully across the surface, blacking out momentarily. Shouts of soldiers filled his ears, footsteps rushed toward him. He shot to his feet to see Eve approaching.

"Get down!" she yelled and dove at him. The air rushed from his lungs as she smashed into his abdomen taking them to the rooftop. Arrows rushed overhead, or shattered against the building around them. Eve rolled off of him and grabbed his hand. Not realizing what was happening, he was pulled to his feet and forced to run again. The Praetorians were on the building beside them, reloading their weapons. "Come on!" Eve pointed to the other end of the roof.

"Uh..." was all the poet could mumble as they sprinted hand-in-hand toward the edge.

"Listen," Eve shouted at him. "When we get to the end, we're going to drop off, okay?"

"What?!?"

"Just trust me!"

Virgil didn't. "No way!"

Eve grinned. "Too late."

"No!"

Eve dropped off the edge dragging the bewildered (and still nauseous) poet with her. They fell quickly, Virgil screaming the whole way, until they broke through a silk awning, then another, slowing as they went. Finally, with a somewhat undignified thud, they landed on the street below.

Virgil blinked. "I hate you, Eve."

"Hurry." She smiled and they raced into the crowd.

In the settling light, Romans moved with growing vigor as the afternoon began its descent into night. An almost undetectable breeze blew. With hand on scabbard, the blue-shrouded figure followed close enough to keep Virgil and Eve in sight, but far enough away to escape detection.

***

"So you're saying this prophecy bodes well and that I should continue as I am going?" the Emperor Nero spoke over his shoulder. He stood before an enormous mirror that was still unable to successfully dominate any of the immense space of his quarters in the Domus Aurea. In his hands was a large bolt of regal blue silk which he busied himself with, tucking and clutching it against his body with fey disquiet. He scrutinized the material as he continued to speak. "That I shouldn't worry? Even though you have no idea what it is I have planned?"

Agrippina lounged upon the mattress of the Emperor's sprawling bed, sheets lazily draped over the mid section of her nude body, hair tousled. Her eyes smoldered languidly in the candle light of the room and she smiled through full lips. "Yes, Caesar. I did."

"Works for me." Nero shrugged. His brows furrowed and he twisted his head at an odd angle. Turning quickly, he wore a look of disarming insecurity. "This color doesn't make me look fat, does it?"

The Sibylline priestess glossed over the question as though it never occurred, her fingers wandering through a bowl of olives with absent aplomb. "The augury's encouraging omen is undeniable, your holiness. It is clear that Rome's enemies will be cast 'into darkness' and destroyed."

Nero considered this with a nod of his head. "That is a positive thing, yes." He then scrunched up his face. "No real mention of painful deaths or suffering, though."

"Also, the Empire's destiny is clearly at hand," Agrippina continued. She popped an olive into her mouth, speaking around it. "And you shall lead the charge to meet it, Caesar."

The Emperor let the silk fall from his naked body to the floor. He stepped over the pile and stood before the bed watching her. Passing admiringly over his body, her eyes flared ardently as she passed another olive with overwrought lust between her lips. Nero blinked without interest at her. "I already knew that. I'm far more curious about those 'sifting sands' and 'floods of flame' to be honest," he said. His eyes narrowed with a veiled glare. "And what about this Eye? What of it?"

"The eyes of the world will witness it all: your greatness, the Empire's." She passed yet another olive between her lips, her eyes slipping from his and drifting down. "All of it."

"All of it, hm?" He blinked at her. "Do you know what I think?"

"Caesar?"

"I think this is all a bunch of rubbish." He smiled. "That's what I think."

Agrippina stiffened, chewing defensively. "Prophecy is not a precise art. There are always..."

"Shut up," Nero said. "And get out."

The priestess blinked uncomprehendingly.

"Get out!" he shrieked. "And will you stop eating those? Gods woman, do they not feed you at the temple?"

In a stunned maunder she began gathering her robes from the floor with waning dignity. Nero shook his head. "Leave the clothes. Just get out. Now!"

She left the quarters with only a sheet to cover her body. Shortly after, a guard entered.

"General Terrence has returned, Caesar, shall I admit him?" Nero gestured with a distracted flourish and moved to the large oaken desk where he took a seat.

Terrence soon entered holding a large and official-looking scroll. He nodded at the Emperor. "Caesar, the declaration is complete, we need only your signet and the State of Emergency will be official."

Nero motioned for the document. Soon he had it embossed and sat back with contented glee. "Excellent. You know Terrence, for my first act as Supreme Ruler I'd like to have two legions brought to the city from Ostia. Send for the Augusta and Claudia immediately." He smiled toothily at the tall soldier.

Terrence nodded with an economical smirk. "A wise choice, Caesar." He gestured to the scroll in his hand. "I will send a rider west before the proclamation is read."

"Well done. And do you have the latest dispatch from the Apennines?"

The soldier handed him a smaller, slightly weathered scroll. "The news is... encouraging," Terrence nodded.

Nero read and brightened, his eyes darting back and forth. "The entrance... they've found the entrance," he whispered, rubbing his chin. "This _is_ encouraging news, my friend. Wonderful."

"I knew you would be pleased." With a bow, the General turned to leave.

Nero spread his hands over an antiquated map of the Apennines, of the area around Mount Velinus, over tattered sketches and engravings of ancient writings. He smirked, "Eyes of the world, indeed." Without looking away from his desk, Nero called out. "Oh, Terrence?"

"Caesar."

"That Sibylline temple is out on the land below the Domus, is it not?"

"Yes it is, your holiness. It has been since before the Republic."

Putting his feet upon the cluttered table, Nero grinned with calm menace. "That's all I was wondering. It's wonderful to know that friends are so well within one's reach."

***

In the square, the merchants busied themselves in their frantic and fevered way, the citizens passed in sweating waves past animals sniffing with fear at the still air. The Praetorian waited with crossed arms. He watched the people scurry, brush into each other, complain, letting it all pass with the practiced scrutiny of a soldier. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

His partner appeared from out of a nearby alley, a look of relief resting upon his face. "PHEW! I feel a lot lighter, now."

"Charming," the first smirked. "You ready, or what? Captain Collinus rode by; we're supposed to meet up at the Temple of Demeter for an announcement, or something."

"More redeployment, I'll bet." The other Praetorian scowled. "They've moved me around the whole city in the last two days."

"I know," the first said, shaking his head. "I didn't become a Praetorian to walk around, if you know what I mean?"

"Oh well, let's get on with it, then." The second waved his friend along and they disappeared into the crowd.

With the soldiers' departure, a wave of calm threaded its way through the square. Citizens continued their daily shopping and spirited socializing began anew, despite the ungodly heat and the palpable tension in the air.

With a blink, Mira poked her head out from under a market stall. "I thought those clowns would never leave." She slid out onto the street, squinting into the throng. With a slight turn of her head, she spoke behind her. "You can come out now."

Giving a tentative peek, Joshua snaked out from under the stall into the afternoon. "Where'd they go?"

"Who cares? Let's get outta here." She led them off toward the far end of an alley, trying to blend in with the chaotic sway of shoppers. They had been trying to make their way back to Gallus' for close to an hour, but when Praetorians weren't obstructing the way, their own lack of familiarity with this part of Rome was. "Maybe if we can get up to a roof, I can figure our way back up the hill," she shrugged.

Joshua kept pace with her quietly. Mira figured he was pretty nervous about all of this. It probably wasn't everyday that he had people trying to kill him. It wasn't everyday she had people trying to kill her. She figured they were doing okay. They had lost the first set of clowns, the angry ones in black easily enough. Then with some expert stealth, they had avoided the Praetorians. Well, except for that one 'scare' thanks to the donkey. Mira rolled her eyes; she was really learning to hate those things. Now, all they had to do was find their way back up to the Quirinal hill. Easy enough, she thought.

They followed the alley to a set of small, labyrinthine pathways that wove behind the huddled buildings of the Capitoline. Refuse littered the dusty ground, but the shade was welcome as they moved at a slight jog. Soon, Mira knew that the slight passages led to dead ends. She cursed to herself and ran a hand through her hair. Joshua bit at a nail. She cursed again, aloud this time. "We're just going to have to cut through the square." She looked at him. "Okay?"

He met her eyes with a timid, labored lift of his own. "Yeah," he said with a nod.

They made their way back through the thin paths, through the alley, back to the rush of the street, the market, the square. Holding hands, they passed as quickly as possible through the rush of Romans and the shouts of merchants. Mira was finding it difficult to keep her eye on every possible point of danger. The leering faces, hands in pockets, the aggressive postures were overwhelming, tough to keep track of. She spotted a welcoming alley on the north side of the square and pushed for it. Joshua moved with her, his hand damp in hers.

Pushing through the last of the crowd they entered the alley. Mira let Joshua go ahead as she turned to check for any sign of pursuers. There didn't seem to be any cause for alarm, so she spun and broke into a jog. She caught up with the boy, smiling as she placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder. "I think we made it."

"Here's hoping." He smiled with tentative relief. "I don't know if I can do another chase."

"You get used to 'em after awhile," Mira said, smirking.

"So I guess you're some kind of an expert then?"

"Of sorts. Remind me to tell you about our trip to Britannia." She rolled her eyes. "Now there's a story. The boat trip with Gabrielle alone is a story in itself."

Joshua winked. "Mm-hmm, I'm sure she's the difficult one."

"Hey! You'd be surprised how difficult she can be. Just 'cause warriors don't talk much doesn't mean they're a picnic to deal with, y'know?" She puffed herself into an exaggerated imitation of Gabrielle. "'Mira, clean those fish I caught. Mira, don't fall asleep. Mira, stop talking. Mira, prepare camp and start a fire and don't make it as big as last time and don't start it under a tree. Mira, don't speak to those mercenaries.'" She sighed. "It's thankless, exhausting work." He smiled and she nudged him. "And I'm not so difficult. I just like doing things my way. I never say it's the right way, just 'my way.'" Mira grinned widely.

Joshua nodded, smiling. "I'm sure."

She shook her head, feeling flush. "Uh... I guess we should..." She indicated the other end of the alley. They moved quickly for it and crouched as inconspicuously as possible when they arrived. Mira looked around the busy street. People passed by quickly, the narrow way appeared to be used by merchants and citizens to move quickly to and from the market square. Dozens of slaves hefted large baskets, crates and amphorae above their heads, lending the street a secondary level of sorts. Mira stood, taking Joshua's hand. "Looks good, let's..."

As she prepared to move, she noticed them: shadows, several figures rising to their feet on a rooftop across from the alley, arms pointing at them, taking aim. "Down!" She fell back into the alley as the arrows shattered against the wall where her head had been. People shouted and scattered, though eventually maintaining a steady flow in either direction while giving the alley a wider berth.

Joshua leaned against the plaster. "Now what do we do?"

Mira didn't have an answer. She blinked widely at her new friend. "Stay down. I'm going to go check the other end." The boy looked nonplussed but remained quiet about it.

She moved quickly, sticking to the wall until she knew she was safe, then retraced their steps. Maybe they could cut across the square, back to that series of alleys and try to hit a rooftop over there. She tensed as she looked out into the crowded square. Four armed men, dressed in black were moving directly for the alley and her.

***

_The sky is black and troubled above Her. Why can't She move? There is shouting, clamor, commotion, a battle nearby, swollen in Her ears, yet Her eyes remain unobstructed, free to course the calamitous heavens. Milky snow falls like stars to the ground. _

_Why can't She move?_

_Then it engulfs Her, black and choking, the realization, the end. How bitter it tastes, as always, yet how different this defeat for She knows it as the last. She recalls the strike, the wound, Her spine flaring in one final flash of agony before winking out forever._

_Flakes of snow melt against Her cheeks and she thinks of Lyceus, as a boy, tongue stuck out to catch the flurries of a rare snowfall. Her legs, Her arms as dead as him now, She imagines them scattered limply upon the ground, a doll's body, forgotten._

_Then there is the girl's voice, the face, of the angel begging Her to get up, but it is useless and impossible perhaps more so than even the love She feels in Her heart, that is mirrored in the face above Her own..._

Still far off, the dark and roiling swatch of the great storm approached steadily over the Tyrrhenum. From where She stood, upon a high cliff overlooking it all, flashes of lightning sparked against the black clouds. Above the tang of the lapping sea, the musk of rain could be sensed, fierce and bold.

Her cape was alive in the strengthening wind, snapping in red streaks around Her body. The steel of the helmet was cool as She rested it upon Her cheeks once again. Even Her hair, which had whipped chaotically in the breeze held a damp chill to it. She clenched Her fist.

_Another vision. A premonition, perhaps, speaking of failure and of death and..._

Was it an omen of what awaited Her? Of the many powers in Her dark arsenal, prophecy was not one. Was this a memory of death, or only dreams? Mortals dreamed, She was told, and the heart steadily pounding in the cage of Her chest whispered its mortality in Her ears. Her fingers sprang open, letting wind cool the flushed skin.

Thought destroyed action. It was a truth that lay at the root of Her being, every fiber, every thread of Her sang it. To compromise, to let such visions, ghosts, memories destroy Her plans was not in Her nature. Meridian trembled in its home on Her back and She straightened against the blowing wind.

"Master!" She called into the shifting air. "Ares!"

Tensing as She tasted blood, She adjusted Her helmet when the God of War appeared before Her. He smirked somewhat contemptuously. "Oh, it's you," he said. "What do you want?"

"An audience, Master." She bowed, somewhat dramatically.

"Mm-hmm. And I'm supposed to just drop what I'm doing and come and listen, huh?" He squinted down at Her with a guarded skepticism then gestured impatiently. "All right, but make it snappy."

"I wish to continue in your service, Master. I want to finish my mission." Her voice was deep and, though not loud, resonant over the crash of waves, the moan of the wind.

"Out of the question, kid." He crossed his arms. "This is way too big to have you go around and screw it up on me. I have my best people on it as we speak."

Her jaw clenched, though Her head remained bowed. "But Master, I..."

"But nothing there's no changing my mind on this." He grinned, "You're sitting it out."

"No!" It had escaped Her. His eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in contempt. Blood throbbed in Her skull, Her neck, She felt Her breathing quicken and in Her stomach the blackness, boiling, frothing now. She bit it all back, pushed it down, Her eyes burning into his. "Master, I can perform my tasks. I can... do this for you..."

"I gave you a shot at the big leagues and you blew it." He turned his back on her. "I asked you to kill one over-the-hill warrior and you couldn't. Some assassin..." With his hands at his hips, back still turned he looked up into the sky. "Guess I'll just have to kill her myself."

"NO!" Meridian was in Her hand, swelling with darkness. In a single stride She was in position to strike. A sword appeared in his left hand as he spun to parry Her attack. Sparks flew, another blade materializing in his right to counter the offensive brought against him. She let Meridian slip from the first weapon and swung into the second, batting it away. They broke apart, locking eyes.

"Not the sharpest blade in the armory, are you?" he taunted.

She went on the attack, moving toward him using an advanced feint to his right side that evolved into a strike against his left. Spinning to deflect, his blades sang shrill and high. They were a blur in a wave of strikes and parries, each unable to gain advantage.

Her heartbeat quickened, flooding Her body with a wave of delicious vigor that She directed toward Her foe. Using this tide, Her attacks intensified. Laughter, malevolent laughter escaped from Her and She let it.

"Having fun, are we?" Ares smirked.

Leaping into the air, She prepared a vicious attack, but he countered by leaping up to meet Her. They clashed high in the air, moving almost as one, like some maddened, conflicted thing. Landing, they continued the fierce stalemate, scoring impotent strikes in an endless flurry.

"Bored now," Ares sneered in a menacing singsong.

One of the swords disappeared leaving his left hand empty. From his open palm a pulse of azure energy flared and arced into Her chest with incredible force, throwing Her back and airborne. While searing in pain, Her limbs quickly went numb under the still crackling bolts coursing through Her. Dazed, She soon realized that She had been pitched clear off the cliff and was falling toward the rocks below. Turning at the last moment, She impacted hard, crashing through a thin layer of land, the earth shearing apart around Her, against Her with a roar. Breath stolen from Her by the first impact, She slammed into the ground in some dark recess, below sea level.

Lying in a crumpled and painful heap, She soon lost consciousness...

_A hand caresses Her face, gently, thoughtfully. She is being held from behind, head cradled upon a soft lap. She can see the blonde girl's face, but would understand their fate without it the young heartbeat against Her cheek is a troubled one._

_Why can't She move?_

_Bars, filth, despair. The Roman cell, it is Gabrielle who holds Her, who is troubled. They really did it this time. She smiles to Herself. Moisture, tears touch Her cheeks._

_\--Gabrielle?_

_\--Xena._

_\--You're crying? Don't cry._

_\--I won't. Rest._

_\--Okay..._

In the darkness, for a moment there is consciousness. Pain wracked Her form, throbbed in the deepest places. She cried out, despite everything in Her nature that fought against such indulgence. It was wet where She lay, puddles of water could be seen reflecting in the slivers of sunlight entering the cavern. The sea too, fell in streams now through the shattered opening. She couldn't move.

The God of War appeared, crouching before Her. Fingers entangled Her loose hair and he pulled Her face toward his own. "I think you should take some time and really reflect about what you did, why you did it, and why it didn't work, okay?" He dropped Her head and soon She slipped into darkness to the sound of his voice. "Oh, and you might want to be quick about it. High tide is real soon."

***

Romans had returned to the streets, clustered in small groups about the expanse of the square. With the gradual tilt of the afternoon light, the stone had lost its blinding shimmer and returned to its former drab tones, its mundane aspect. The heat remained, though without much of its earlier venom, curling about the pillars of the Forum's larger buildings.

Gabrielle pulled the red linen around her head, wrapping her face in its breathy cowl and moved with care down the wide marble stairs of the archives. The stone coughed heat over the tired leather of her sandals and up her legs with each soft stride. She met the growing crowds in the square and began moving away from the river. With a shove, she pushed through them, needing air, space. Eventually, the throng faded, the streets becoming narrow, shaded as she moved up the Viminal hill.

The sunlight pushed through the languid dust, draping it in ochre swatches through the air before her eyes. She moved steadily, passing so many buildings, vaguely familiar. This part of Rome was pure memory to her, indistinct but known somehow, intuited through qualities of air, the hanging of light, the echo of her footsteps upon the buildings.

The cool air of the library was now fully stripped from her, and a thin sheen of sweat began to form on her skin. Other influences from the library weren't so easily abandoned. Words remained in her mind, the passage, spilled across the old parchment in its trembling meter:

_Against the sins of Peleander, a punishment must fall,  
Upon the God of War Olympus calls,  
The Lady of Pain shall rise until the deed is done,  
The task complete and Justice won,  
And then again shall Her spark wink out from the stage of Gaea._

The steady tramping of a column of soldiers approached from down a nearby alley. She slipped into a shaded doorway and shut her eyes. There were ten, heading down the hill, away from her, toward the Forum, whispers among them of a meeting or gathering. As they turned a corner, they disturbed a thin cat that jogged to safety at the end of a row of crates then disappeared down the hill. Gabrielle opened her eyes and slipped from the doorway, resuming her sprint up the hill.

Her ribs still ached, protesting the strain of her pace up the steep incline, but she swore at them through clenched teeth and carried on. The rest of the passage, the revelation of it, demanded it of her.

_Ares summoned from Elysium, fierce Eponia of Thrace,  
Upon her shoulders the mantle of Nemesis placed  
Though her resurrection and rise to the world above  
Needed the blessing of the Goddess of Love  
Sweet Aphrodite's gift brought the final breath of life.  
And when the deed lay done, the day won,  
The God of War sent her back to her place of rest._

This was definitely what Ares had been up to, what he had done, she knew it. There had been several other accounts documenting the God of War resurrecting Nemesis, using other dead warrior-women to fill the task and every one requiring Aphrodite's 'approval.'

_And when his schemes were complete, what then?_

Gabrielle slowed to a walk. She was lost. Sitting on the shaded doorstep of a quiet storefront, she blinked wearily at the buildings around her.

_It had snowed on Mount Nestos. Raged, actually, the ice like tiny razors across my skin. My leg throbbing the whole time, hurting so much sometimes that I could forget the cold, the ice, grief..._

_Then you died, didn't you? And it was you who decided it, wasn't it? Like always, like every time. When to go, when to come back. And I followed. Even that first time you came back, it was your lead I was following, it was you who moved through me. Like always..._

_And the last time, playing my part, what could I have done? I thought it was what you wanted. I didn't even think to try, I still had you, so I thought. Out of the woods, between the restless fingers of the trees you came to my campfire, night after night, you weren't really dead and I wasn't really alive. The days were formless, empty, sick with light and other people and doubt._

_There was a delusion I allowed myself, that one night you would kneel by the flames and it might warm your skin, and turning, cheeks slowly swelling red, I would take your face in my hands, lifting gently, and before words could escape, my lips would lie upon yours, your first breath taken from my lungs._

_But you wanted rest, that's what you said. And I gave it to you, following your lead, again. You stayed dead and I stayed alive..._

Gabrielle raised her head from her hands and got to her feet. Walking absently she moved along the cobbled streets, cresting the hill. After a few turns, she moved into a small square, at the centre of which was a modest looking shrine.

She approached slowly, tentatively. Doves took to the air from ancient urns choked with the chaos of their nests. The sun was behind a large building and shade fell harshly in the tiny plaza. Statues of the goddess stood, stained with soot, time, the faces smoothing, fading from recognition. A pool lay dry, the stone cracked, scattering the delicate mosaic inlay onto the ground where some of it rested like fish scales catching the meager light.

Gabrielle freed her head, her face from the linen cowl, running her hand through her damp hair. Peering into the temple, she sighed. Shadows pooled deeply, obscuring what lay beyond the front portal. Steeling herself, she stepped warily through the door to Aphrodite's temple.

***

Mira sprinted around the corner, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of Joshua lying prone, but alert at the end of the alley. He blinked nervously as she approached. Sliding in beside him, she directed her attention out into the busy street.

"The men on the roof haven't moved," he said. "Any time I do anything, they take a shot." He gestured with distress at the shattered arrows lying useless around him. Mira noticed several slivers of wood nestled wildly in his hair and did her best not to laugh. She tried focusing on the danger at hand.

"That's not the only problem. There are about five guys coming down the alley right behind me."

"What?"

"Yeah," she blinked into the bustle of the street and then to the rooftops above. "So we'd better think of something quick."

While people had backed off from near the alley, the commotion of earlier had died down allowing for a constant flood of foot traffic in the street. Mira watched the slaves carrying pots, baskets and crates upon their shoulders and heads. She rubbed her chin. "Listen," she said, excitement building in her voice. "Just follow me and do what I do. Don't think about it, okay? Just do it."

He nodded. "Okay."

"Good." She smiled at him, just as the men in black rounded the corner behind them. She readied herself. "Let's go!"

Quickly springing to her feet, Mira sprinted in a zigzag toward the closest slave, bearing a large basket on his broad shoulders. With an easy leap she pounced up lighting upon it, then sped to a nearby crate being hefted by two other men. Arrows rained down from above, the first volley eliciting shouts, screams, commotion of all kinds.

To Mira, it was as though the tops of the heads, the baskets, barrels, the crates all were waves in some river that suddenly rushed to life and wildly thrashed beneath her feet. While an expert acrobatic and a veteran of some harrowing feats of agility, the girl was trying hard not to think about the difficulty of their current ordeal. She leaped to the next crate, then across to a basket. Her goal, a nearby balcony, was almost within reach.

She turned to see Joshua's progress. He didn't seem to be doing so badly, although the hold he had on his balance was precarious at best. The rain of crossbow bolts had stopped; maybe the angle from the rooftops was too severe at this point.

Their pursuers had entered the crowd, immediately tipping baskets and crashing into people. Fights broke out, causing a surge upon the sea of bodies. Suddenly, a black figure leapt up beside Joshua, tipping over the basket he was standing on, pitching the boy saucer-eyed into the roiling mass, where he disappeared in a swell of humanity.

Mira sprang to a parallel crate, then quickly to a dangerously listing basket, all the while focusing her attention on the torrent of activity where Joshua had fallen. One of the black figures raised himself from the crowd, sporting a fistful of Joshua's tunic, lifting the stunned looking youth slightly off the ground.

"Damn," Mira cursed, eyes darting about. She hopped onto another crate to buy one fleeting moment. The crowd's boiling chaos continued to intensify, reaching a riotous crescendo. She spotted a large amphora, copper, just above Joshua. The other pursuers pushed through the crowd, converging on their friend's position. With a wide leap, Mira sprang at the back of one of the men's heads. Slamming her right foot hard into the attacker's skull, she cartwheeled in mid-air from his quickly tumbling body to another of the men in black. Crashing both feet into his back, she sprang finally at the amphora, riding it off of the slave's shoulders into Joshua's captor, who fell unconscious into the crowd.

"Uh oh," she whispered as she continued falling into the wild throes of the crowd. Legs thrashed against her and she never actually hit the ground, but was instead tangled within the limbs of screaming and yelling Romans. Somehow she lifted her head and Joshua's frantic face was staring back at her. She laughed. "Let's go!" Eventually, they righted themselves and began to push for the other side of the street.

"I think we lost them," Joshua wheezed.

"Yup." Mira apprised their position as they hit the outskirts of the crowds and moved toward a narrow side street. "This street should take us to one of the roads leading up to the house." She smirked at the visibly rattled boy. "Think you can avoid becoming a hostage that long?"

He scowled mockingly. "Ha. Ha."

They broke from the masses and jogged up the street, between the graffiti-strewn tenements and abandoned warehouses. A dog barked after them, chasing along with a springing step before finally giving up and returning to the stoop where he had been snoozing. Mira eased up as they approached a corner that opened up onto a main street. People seemed to be moving with purpose toward a nearby square, murmuring about some kind of proclamation. With a shrug, Mira indicated that they should follow and they padded after the gathering people.

When they reached the square, Mira knew she had made a mistake. A row of armored Praetorians stood at attention bearing their standards as citizens gathered in the streets, or hung out of windows. White-robed officers spoke among themselves at the head of the men, until one stepped forward, his raised hand quieting the wary trembling that had been coursing through the crowd. Mira shook her head at Joshua. "This is not going to be good."

The man spoke. "Citizens of Rome, for your safety, and for the safety of the Empire, Nero, God-Emperor has declared an official State of Emergency within the walls of the city and throughout Italia. Until further notice, citizens must remain within their homes after sunset and travel within the city is to be limited. Authority has been given to the various Praetors to affect martial law in their jurisdictions. The Senate is now officially suspended until the current crisis has passed."

A wave of murmurs spilled through the crowd. A Praetorian stepped forward, bringing a horn to his lips. Mira shifted. "We'd better get outta here. Like now."

They moved as inconspicuously as possible out of the square. The horn blared out behind them and soon after the sound of drums could be heard. "Oh great," Mira muttered under her breath. Twisting through another set of streets, they were heading away from the Quirinal and Gallus' home. The drums drew closer, their steady rhythm pounding into the walls and their bodies as they ran.

Turning a corner they stopped in their tracks. "Gods." Mira's jaw dropped.

Hundreds of Praetorians marched through the streets in tight lines, the fall of their steady march the true source of the drumming. They began taking up positions at corners, set up roadblocks, cordoned off areas of the city. The way up the Quirinal was cut off from them. Mira bit her lip. Joshua grabbed her arm. "We can't just stand here. Come on!"

Tracing their steps, they passed down alleys and across forgotten lots strewn with trash. All the while feeling as though there was less and less space for them to move. Mira halted suddenly. The end of the passage was blocked, a group of soldiers standing around. Stepping quietly back down the shaded alley, Mira gestured toward an abandoned building. "We need to hide for a while. I need to think this through."

Joshua pried a board from one of the windows and they crawled in. The air was damp and somewhat cool in the uncertain space. They replaced the board, letting their eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. Joshua stood in a tense pose near the window. The boy seemed to be waiting for her to speak. Mira ran a hand through her hair. "The Romans aren't looking for us, but I think we would attract too much attention going through one of those checkpoints right now," she spoke with affected confidence, authority. "We'll just lay low for a bit."

"Okay."

Joshua chewed at a fingernail. Mira paced over the cluttered ground, concluding that there was still about five hours until sunset. Five hours to let the Praetorians settle in and lock a stranglehold on the city streets. Five hours to find a way back up the hill to the house. Five hours for Gabrielle to find them and get them out of this mess.

Mira kicked at a broken clay pot, shattered pieces scattering upon the floor, settling into the thick dust. The girl sighed hugging her arms to herself, while the room throbbed angrily with the sound of distant marching.

***

_I am dying._

_I am going to die._

_After all I have done, after everything, there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing I can do to open that tiniest of passages in my neck, to make blood flow again. It is almost a relief, a luxury, to be powerless; I am pleasantly surprised. I wonder why I never enjoyed it until this moment._

_\--Stop this. Stop it._

_Gabrielle. Pleading, powerless as well. Something I will never enjoy seeing. But this is for her as much as it is for me._

_There is no time. Gods, there is so little time._

_She doesn't understand, she can't. I tell myself it is important for her to learn, that it is for her I do this. But my reasons are selfish, there is no denying it. My own words gave it away._

_\--If I only had 30 seconds to live, this is how I'd want to live them, looking into your eyes..._

_Somewhere, out beyond the walls of the room, is the final battle. Far from home, on a cold morning, between the aloof faces of the trees: it is a warrior's death that awaits me, as it has before, always._

_You asked why I am doing this, why I am teaching you this now. Maybe you would laugh about it someday, maybe, knowing that some of your nature, your poetry may have rubbed off on me, at least by the end of it all. It is simple. I know what it is to die a warrior, and if that is to be the ultimate fate, I wanted to know what it was to die a lover, if only once, for a moment._

_Typical of me, I know. Wanting it all to go my way. Perhaps you could forgive, as you always do, this one last time..._

Eventually movement was possible. With incredible difficulty, She raised Herself to one knee, splashing in the growing puddles of the fissure. Water rained down in waves, the sound of the sea crashing above.

Soon, She could remain standing, the pain in Her limbs receding into a vague numbness. She scanned the cavern, searching. An absence of light deeper than darkness, Meridian lay dormant in a pool, coming to life as She bent to retrieve it. Her head spun, Her stomach unable to keep pace.

It took Her far too long to climb out of the hole, limbs still convulsing, releasing sparks of Her Master's wrath. The rocks were slippery and She growled at them and Her legs, still unable to thrust Her from the mouth of the crevice. She walked uneasily along the beach, in a daze. Water threw itself against Her legs, washing away blood and frayed skin. The beach sank beneath her unsteady steps.

_A woman, with wild blonde hair, frantic eyes, submerged in sand desperately held her hand out, afraid for her life, sinking._

_You can't just let me die, Xena..._

She blinked. The sands stretched out empty before Her, white and endless to the northwest. The visions meant nothing, She decided. They distracted, confused and in the end, were only meaningless vapors, ghosts haunting Her head. While they felt real, something about them was distanced from Her. Even the waking hallucinations seemed to call from across some expanse, some yawning gulf. She continued to walk in a half-daze.

It wasn't clear how long She continued this way. As Her senses returned, She noted that the sun had changed positions, if only slightly, that the tide had become higher, and She had adjusted Her path to avoid it. She blinked up toward the approaching storm, mute and black in the western sky.

Then it returned, in the well of Her stomach, the back of Her throat, behind Her eyes, the darkness, Her darkness. The leather in Her gloves, swollen with salt water, complained around clenched fists. Her scream rang shrilly over the sprawling dunes and before it was swallowed by the emptiness. She broke into a run. As blood swelled pained muscles, soothing them into steadiness, Her pace quickened. With a leap She turned sharply to the northwest, scaling the dunes and tearing across the tight stubble that led to the road.

It was clear now, Her goal. Her Master's servants would fall before Her, leaving Her as the sole instrument of his power, free of distraction, of the visions. And then, as a luxury She would allow Herself, as much as a gift to Her Master, She would complete Her original task without fail, bringing the warrior woman's still stuttering head before Ares. She smiled to Herself, keeping a steady pace toward the slowly descending sun and Rome.


	5. The Stranger in Your Eyes

The main chamber of the temple was worn, musty smelling and still even in the muddy half-light. Large columns of coral granite, draped in laurelled detailing and hewn deftly from large chunks of quartz, pushed to the ceiling. An altar of dark cherry wood sat upon the dais adorned with garlands of dry flower petals and candle stubs covered with dust. Behind it stood a single throne with a tall back. Flakes of parchment lay crumbled on the floor, the words and invocations faded, receding into nothingness.

Gabrielle moved cautiously through the hall, taking note of every detail, sound, smell. Shards of pottery were scattered on the marble floor, the sconces hung empty and water had damaged a large copper relief depicting the birth of Cupid, obscuring it in patina. She stood before the altar momentarily, looking at the chair, running her hands absently over the wilted, dry things left as offerings long ago.

She raised her head, taking in the web-strewn dome above. Beneath a pall of dust and soot, scenes of love, eros, desire could be discerned with effort -- ghostly images as fleeting in the meager light as the emotions they portrayed. With a dismissive sniff, the warrior moved around the altar.

There was a doorway, barely visible in the darkness at the end of the temple. Her senses extended, Gabrielle passed into a smoothly rendered corridor. The small hall ended in two chambers, one kept from her by a debris-barred door of oak. The other room, a tiny chamber, had no door. She entered, her eyes adjusting to the absence of light. A simple, musty pallet was the room's only furnishing.

She stood over the bed for a moment, taking in its blank surface. Kneeling, she placed her face over the rough mattress and inhaled deeply. Her eyes widened in curiosity briefly, then narrowed once more as she sniffed again. She floated her hand, palm-down just above the mattress, eventually letting her fingers caress the coarse bedding. Reaching the head of the mat, she closed them gently. Rising, she backed out of the room and down the hall to the main chamber.

The warrior stepped to the center of the temple and stopped, facing the doorway, her face lit from the square outside. She brought her closed fingers to her face, delicately unfurling them before her eyes. Lying across her palm, cleaving it into two hemispheres was a single strand of long, black hair, catching the light as it filtered in, like droplets caught upon the thread of a net. She blinked down at it, green eyes following the thin filament that had wrapped itself around her wrist, rising over her open palm until it hung between her fingers into the air. Her eyes held it, suspended it there as much as the stillness of the temple, and it seemed only to sway with the gentle throb beneath her skin.

Gabrielle straightened, suddenly, emotion leaving her face. "I know you're there, so why don't you just come out."

From behind a pillar, the Goddess of Love stepped into the light, smiling with embarrassment. "Didn't want to interrupt."

If Ares' presence spilled the taste of blood upon the palate, Aphrodite's brought the tongue to life with the sensation of the ripest fruit splitting sweetly into morsels that tingled against the taste buds. The skin throbbed longingly, shivers playing along the spine settling into the fingertips, toes, lips, and other, softer places. The sensations tended to flow and ebb with the goddess' frequent fluctuations of mood.

"You're not." Gabrielle stiffened against the unconscious manipulation of her body. She thrust her jaw out in defiance, her hand moving to her sash. With a swaggering sweep of her wrist she indicated the temple. "Seems like this place has seen better times."

"You can say that about anywhere, these days."

Gabrielle smirked with raw contempt. "Maybe everyone gave up on your big lie."

"If that's true, why are you here?" the Goddess asked, without skipping a beat. The warrior stood quietly, smoldering.

Aphrodite moved into the room. The goddess smiled despite the obvious tension, looking Gabrielle over. "You went back to the short hair, huh?" She winked at the warrior. "Always liked that look on you."

"Don't." With a black scowl, Gabrielle banished the growing ease between them. "Just don't."

Shoulders slouching, Aphrodite sighed, her eyes reflecting depths that shook even the warrior's resolve. The Goddess of Love shrugged sadly. "You probably don't believe me, but I've missed you, you know?"

"Look-" The warrior steeled herself. "-I didn't come to catch up or reminisce."

"No?"

"Never does any good. Does it?"

"If you say so. Or maybe you're just not actually interested in doing any good." The goddess tilted her head. "At least where your own well being is concerned. Hmm?"

Gabrielle raised her chin. "What would you know about it?"

"True. We haven't kept in touch, have we?"

"And who's fault is that?" the warrior spat.

"Touché." Aphrodite winked, throwing Gabrielle off guard. "So... to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You know why I'm here."

"I do, but there's nothing I can tell you." The goddess stepped toward her. "Nothing you don't already know in your--"

"Where? My heart?" Gabrielle's face twisted. "And you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Aphrodite looked away. "That's not fair."

"But what is, right?" The warrior clenched her fists, muscles rippled in waves up her legs. Her ribs ached as she swallowed hard.

The goddess turned toward Gabrielle, eyes meeting, searching. Tilting her head sadly, Aphrodite placed her hand upon the warrior's cheek. "Oh, Gabrielle..."

Without shrinking away, Gabrielle growled. "I don't need your pity, just some answers."

Staring into Gabrielle's eyes, the goddess let a heartbreaking smile play over her face. The hand lingered upon the warrior's cheek for a moment more, sending shivers that Gabrielle had to grit her teeth against. Aphrodite turned, pacing away. "It's too dark in here," she said, waving her hands and bringing the sconces to life. The light played gently throughout the unkempt temple, lifting its mood somewhat. "Okay, little one," she said, turning, the smile still coloring her lips. "What is it you'd like to ask?"

Taking a breath, Gabrielle crossed her arms. "Just what is it that Ares has planned?"

Aphrodite raised an eyebrow and chuckled. "Don't waste any time, do you?"

"I've learned not to waste anything," the warrior said without mirth. "Especially time."

The Goddess strolled back into the center of the temple. "You know I can't just tell you, right?"

"Why not?"

"Ares is my brother." Aphrodite squinted, searching. "I can't just sell him out, y'know?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "So you won't give me a better answer?"

"Ask better questions." Aphrodite winked with tireless good humor and moved to her throne, taking a seat.

"Fine," the warrior said, rubbing her chin. "The heat wave is obviously Ares' doing; the set up for the rest of his plans. He's resurrected Nemesis and unleashed Her against Rome. Her assassinations have been blamed on the Elians and have caused, in less than a week I might add, the Senate to be abolished, martial law to be declared and the Empire to be placed in a state of unrest that may start a civil war."

Aphrodite yawned dramatically, reclining. "Yes, it's all so frikkin' exciting."

"Distracting, is a better word." Gabrielle began pacing, lost in thought. "Civil war within the greatest empire in history is something Ares would get a kick out of, but why introduce an element like Nemesis into the mix? Why not use any of the garden variety cutthroats walking around nowadays?"

"Um... duh! She's the Assassin of the Gods, who else would he call to rub out some Romans for him?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "Doesn't make sense. It all just seems too big, somehow." The warrior ran a hand through her hair. "Unless... he has some other purpose for Her," she said, turning to face the Goddess. "Her work... the assassinations..." Gabrielle's eyes veiled slightly as she spoke, "The attack on the temple... It all seems to be an overture of some kind -- a beginning -- a beginning without an ending in sight..."

Aphrodite looked up from her nails.

Gabrielle exhaled, rubbing her eyes in frustration. "This is going nowhere. I'm missing something. A piece of it..." She bit her lip, looking at the Goddess.

"What is it?" Aphrodite blinked at her.

With a sigh, Gabrielle crossed her arms. "You helped Ares didn't you?"

"Helped him, what?"

Her heart pounded in her ears. "You helped him bring Her to life, didn't you? Nemesis? You brought Her back somehow?"

"Gabrielle..."

"Answer me, _damn it!_" Her fists had fallen clenched, throbbing to her sides.

"What do you want me to say? Yes. I helped Ares bring Nemesis to life. Okay? You knew that already." Aphrodite rose, pursing her lips in understanding. "I told you, you already know everything you need to." She moved closer to the warrior. "Why won't you put it all together?"

The warrior, still fuming, sneered in the face of the goddess. "If I knew how, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"No, of course not." The Goddess of Love smirked.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing," Aphrodite said. "Just that you might have another, more important question on your mind."

Gabrielle growled, turning toward the door. "I'm leaving."

"Before you go," the goddess called out. "Answer something for me."

The warrior stopped, shoulders slouched, breathing heavy. Running a hand through her hair appeared to provide needed strength, her posture straightened, her resolve returned. She sighed with an air of impatience. "Go ahead."

"Why did you come to Rome after all this time?" Aphrodite asked without a smile.

The warrior crossed her arms. "Because a friend asked me to."

"True," the goddess nodded. "Is that the only reason?"

"What?"

Aphrodite blinked nonchalantly. "Is that the only reason you came to Rome after twelve years of avoiding the place -- because Virgil asked you to?"

"You have another theory, I suppose?" Gabrielle growled.

"I do." The Goddess of Love scrutinized her. "You wouldn't want to hear it, I think."

"Oh, I'm sure you'll tell me anyway," Gabrielle said with supreme weariness.

"You're right, of course." The goddess straightened. "You came here to die."

The warrior gagged on mocking laughter. "Did I?"

"No need to be so incredulous -- you did." Aphrodite moved closer. "So why aren't you dead yet, Gabrielle?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"It's a legitimate question."

"Like I said: I'm leaving..."

"I guess I'm just a little confused, hon. You always finish what you start. Even though you've stayed away from the city for years, there are still bounties on your head in all of the provinces in the Empire. Coming here was dangerous enough, then your attack on the temple -- your diversion..." Aphrodite narrowed her eyes at the warrior. "You intended to let the assassin finish you once you completed your task, saved your friends." The goddess stared at her. "You had a chance to die, yet you didn't. Why, Gabrielle? What changed your mind?"

The warrior turned and stood seething at Aphrodite, fists pulled taut and white upon themselves. Moving softly toward Gabrielle, the deity placed both hands upon her cheeks. "What happened to you, Gabby?"

"Don't call me that..." Tears welled up in the warrior's eyes and she wanted to pull away.

"You're denying everything in your soul. Everything that makes you human, that makes you alive," the goddess asked passionately, searching for an answer. "What happened to you?"

"No!" Gabrielle shoved her away. "What would you know about it?" Thunder pulsed in her ears, through her neck. "Pain, loneliness, regret, those are things I have had to live with everyday for the last twelve years. That is what being human is. That is what life is. My life." The warrior was panting like a cornered tiger, eyes burning.

The Goddess moved toward her again, but Gabrielle flinched away. Aphrodite shook her head sadly. "You're wrong," she said. "Love is life, little one. Love is life."

"Don't you say that!" Gabrielle screamed, hands over her ears. "Don't _ever_ say that to me."

"Gabrielle..."

There was a cold place in the warrior's chest. A dead place. It echoed the words she had thrown at the goddess, mirrored the sentiments. If love was life, then her feelings about her own life still held true. Maybe always...

Her blonde head bowed, Gabrielle began to sob. She felt hollow, something unhinging from inside of her, breaking free, swelling to pour from her. It was clear to her now. "They all tried... all of them... but it was you... you were the one that got her in the end... Your brother never would have let that happen," Gabrielle spat words through tears, through bared teeth. "If she hadn't turned her back on him... she would still be..."

The goddess looked down upon the warrior. "Would she?"

"It was you! You let her feel things... you let her feel... Without you, without love she wouldn't have felt guilt... for anything..." She sobbed without restraint.

"But that's not what you believe, Gabrielle," Aphrodite said simply. "Is it?"

Through tears Gabrielle moved to protest, but only stared into the goddess' eyes. She couldn't breathe, blood draining from her face as she let it all fall upon her. Breaking from her chest, exploding into the low dome of the temple was a scream that spilled her to the ground. "Gods..." was all she could say in its wake, a mantra clung to like debris spun on surf fluttering over the parted lips of undertow.

The Goddess of Love knelt beside her, soft fingers trailing with affection through blonde hair. With a sad look, Aphrodite passed her gaze over the warrior. The weight of days rested heavily upon the woman, settling hard at the edges of her mouth, her eyes, around numerous scars visible and secret, obscuring her heart in miasma. But still, there it was, beyond the doubt and other pollution, glowing, firefly quiet, impossibly strong. The goddess smiled softly to herself. She would always love this mortal, this soul. Aphrodite wrapped her arms around the warrior, sending a slow, warm feeling across her skin. "You're not alone," she whispered. "You have friends: friends who love you, who can help you. And more.

"Gabrielle, listen to me," Aphrodite whispered. "You have a chance here, it's a small one, but it's a chance to have everything you've ever wanted. Everything that I've wanted for you."

The warrior's eyes opened spilling tears, and she blinked up at Aphrodite through the calm, slow comprehension welling in her eyes. "You have all the answers, little one," the Goddess of Love said, nodding. "Do you understand?"

Sniffing, Gabrielle wiped at the scald in her eyes. Short of breath, panting, she wrapped her forearm about herself as she got to her feet. Her breathing echoed through the temple, spilling across the dome above. They shared a long glance in the torchlight. The warrior swallowed hard. "I'm..."

Aphrodite placed a coral hued finger upon Gabrielle's lips, smiling. "Shh..."

The warrior nodded, her stare changing. "Thank you."

Returning the nod, the Goddess of Love turned toward her throne. Gabrielle moved silently to the doorway and the remains of the afternoon beyond.

"Gabby?" Aphrodite's voice echoed behind her. Gabrielle turned. The Goddess smiled warmly, reclining on her throne. "Don't be a stranger."

The air outside was still heavy in the dead square, light falling feather soft in ribbons to the ground. Gabrielle pulled the red silk over her face, the cloth resting coolly against her damp cheekbones. Pigeons took flight, pushing over the canals of air and space between earthly clutter and into the wide and shifting palette of early dusk. Softly, gingerly, her hand slid between the robe and its sash finding the thin secret she had placed within its fold. The long, black strand of hair tickled at her skin like a hope. The city's pull clutched her as she began her descent toward its center, dragging at her bones while she moved down the sloping roads of the Viminal that led to the forum, to the blue shade of the Quirinal hill, to Gallus' home, and to her friends.

***

The Goddess of Love remembered the curious smile that crept onto the warrior's face unhindered as she had left through the door to the temple and into the sun. _Well,_ she thought, _it's a start._ She grinned, a sprite-like mischief wrinkling her nose. _It's a start, Gabby, but I promise the finish will be a whole lot better..._ The chamber let her girlish giggle play across its cap after she had disappeared in a rush of light.

***

From where she was, half-underground, Mira could watch the soldiers' sandaled feet pace across the oily grit of the alley, back and forth, occasionally stopping to talk to one another and then continue on with their duties. The pacing of the patrols had been quite frequent. Through the sliver of light that was her lookout she threw a whispered curse, then slipped the ragged, splinter-filled board back over the entrance to their basement hiding place.

She wiped sweat from her upper lip. The ventilation through the basement was non-existent and the light was steadily failing them, retreating and regrouping into dwindling pools near the various holes and cracks in the walls. A few seconds had to pass for her eyes to adjust and for Joshua to come into focus, slouched against an ancient crate. His hair clung in damp points against his forehead. She sighed as quietly as she could. How am I gonna get us out of this one?

"You alright?" Joshua's voice sank dead into the various debris scattered about the room.

Mira nodded, not sure if he could see. "Yup."

She heard him chuckle. "Yeah, that sounded convincing."

"I'm fine," she said, a little too harshly. Turning, she softened her tone. "Really."

"I'm not," he offered. "It's too hot. I'm too tired. And to be perfectly honest, I'm afraid."

Mira squinted over at the boy, giving up on her surveillance of the street outside and moved to where he was sitting. She sat, a little too quickly, something pinching her butt with a sharp pain. Later, as she pulled a large splinter from her behind, she would thank the gods for the restraint she had shown in disguising the incident with a strategic (and rather convincing, she might add) cough. Switching positions, she blinked at the boy. "It's okay, you know? We're going to be fine." Realizing how that might sound, she added, "I mean it."

"Guess I'm just not cut out for this kind of thing." He hugged his knees.

As hard as she fought not to, she decided to try and help. "So, what are you cut out for?" she asked, hoping that if she could get his mind off of the situation he might feel a bit better about it.

"Good question." He shrugged. "My dad just assumes I'm going to be a carpenter like him, but I don't know... It just doesn't seem to fit."

"What does?"

He inhaled sharply then let it unfurl from him in a slow sigh. "Not sure. Well... Nah! Forget it..."

"What? What is it?"

"I don't know... it's just... well, when I was helping Eve, in the Roman cell, with all of those sick people..."

Mira nodded. "It fit."

"Yes," he returned. "Talking with them. Easing their pain in whatever way I could. It all felt -- I don't know -- right."

"Well, that's a start, huh?" Mira noticed him shift and tilted her head. "What is it?"

"That isn't all, though," he said, hesitantly. "I don't know... it's something more. I can't describe it..."

"Try."

Joshua stood up, shaking blood into his legs. "You're gonna think I'm a stupid kid..."

"What?" She rose, wincing in the dark at her smarting rump. "Hey. Come on." She placed her hand on his shoulder, scrunching up her face in hopes he might see it in the frail light. "It's ole Mira yer talkin' too here." He laughed, though he fought hard not to. She decided to be serious again. "You're not a stupid kid, so why would I think that?"

"Like I said, I can't describe everything... but... I think it has something to do with Eve."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when I was around her, I felt a strange... connection, y'know?"

Mira crossed her arms. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah... like we were meant to work together like how we did... to heal people..."

"Oh?" Mira trailed off. "Well, that is what she does. Maybe you could go with her when all of this is done. Follow the ways of Eli. Gabrielle speaks pretty highly of it all."

"Really?"

"Yup. She used to follow the ways too, y'know. Well, a long time ago, anyway."

Joshua blinked at her. "Really? Gabrielle did? Quiet, blonde, warrior type?" His hand illustrated a rough approximation of the warrior's height. "This tall? That Gabrielle?"

Mira laughed. "Yes. _That_ Gabrielle. A long time ago. I can't see it, but what do I know?"

Joshua's face darkened slightly. "There's something else..."

"There's a surprise." Mira teased.

"About a year ago I had a dream. Eve was in it." He hesitated. "I never met her until about two months ago..."

Mira blinked, not really knowing what to say. She decided to change the subject. "Look, just have a seat, we can talk about it later. With Eve, if you'd like."

Joshua looked toward the exit. "I'm really worried about those missing Elians."

"Me too." Mira nodded. "When we get out of here, maybe we can find them." She moved away, pushing the board aside and turning her attention back to the street. "We just have to sit tight until Gabrielle comes to get us out of here."

_Yeah, right..._

Out on the street, the soldiers paced past the window, sandals crunching with steady pressure against the ground. One of them spit into the dust. Mira scowled.

_Where in Tartarus is she?_ The girl ran a hand through her hair, pushing a long lock behind her ear. Gabrielle had not been herself for more than a while. Actually, not since receiving Virgil's invitation just over a month and a half ago. Mira remembered the look on the warrior's face as she read the letter while leaning against a doorway in Argos, the subtle lines of her skin darkening in bunches above and around her eyes. Gabrielle had become slowly invisible since that time, and over the last few weeks, increasingly so.

The days since the breakout had been the worst between them. It was here that the warrior had vanished altogether, and right when Mira (as much as she hated to admit it) needed the woman the most. Mira sighed, pushing her fist softly against the wall. She slipped the board back into place, sealing out the soldiers' footsteps and turned back into the room. Shuffling back into the gloom, she found a quiet place near Joshua in the growing darkness.

***

Dust was draped in low patches above the base of the Capitoline hill. It rose, invisible until straying into the sharp blades of light that fell between the buildings and then flashed into sight, frozen in sepia tufts above the crowds. It rose from the steady thrum of a cohort of Praetorians on the march, fanning out through the city.

At the head of the columns, younger soldiers carried their standards draped from polished brass and gold poles bearing the symbol of Rome: the Imperial eagle, wings outstretched, talons open. Chariots brought up the rear, pulled by tall warhorses with steady gazes and sure feet. At various points, white robed officers dispatched small details to patrol and monitor intersections and city blocks. Soon after stopping, they began questioning random citizens and passersby. The sounds of drums, marching feet and horns hung in the air long after the mass of men had spread out.

Virgil turned around from the low stall where he had been pretending to admire a ladle fabricated from a small gourd. With a quick squint, he scanned the square. "I think we can move," he said.

Eve stood up from the crate of sickly apples she had been sifting through. She smiled. "Almost there."

"Mm-hmm."

They faded into the stream of Romans, keeping apart, but within sight of each other. This had been the way of things since losing the group of Praetorians an hour earlier. While they had not had any similar encounters, it was slow going back to Gallus' home on the Quirinal. Now there seemed to be reinforcements coming into this part of the city. Virgil wondered if these had been sent to round them up. It didn't seem to make sense, but then the Romans often didn't.

As Eve slowed behind a cramped swell of crowd, the poet sidled up behind her. "What do you think all that hardware was about?" he asked quietly.

"A perfect example of the Roman fondness for spontaneous parades?" she smirked.

"You know," Virgil crossed his arms. "The closer you are to middle age, the funnier you become, Eve."

She glared at him, raising an eyebrow. "Watch it."

Sidestepping, Virgil continued his original line of inquiry. "I think something is going on. There was that horn blowing and the marching and the forming up. Something's in the wind."

"Agreed." Eve nodded. "We just need to find out what it is." She darted her head about, looking for a nearby collection of infantrymen, or a checkpoint.

Virgil looked around for a moment then tapped a man on the shoulder. "Excuse me, exactly why are there squads of Praetorians marching through the streets?" He shrugged at Eve who crossed her arms with an amused look.

The short man squinted at them briefly then spoke. "The Emperor's declared a State of Emergency, he has. He's closed the Senate and everyone's answerable to the Praetors in the different jurisdictions." He leaned in, "And rumor has it that there's two legions headed toward the city from Ostia as we speak. It's a right mess, it is."

"Thank you." Virgil blinked at Eve intensely. "Well, this isn't good, is it?"

"No. It really isn't."

"I guess it doesn't change anything, really. We still need to get back to the house."

Eve pulled at the poet's fingers for him to follow and they continued through the crowds. Pushing as they had earlier, separately, though within sight of one another, making a steady pace for the Quirinal hill.

Soon, they passed down a street that was under construction. Scaffolds and ladders crisscrossed over their heads from rooftop to rooftop, platform to platform. On the road, the crowds began to slow, to gather in a large mass further ahead. Virgil hopped up on a stall to gain a better vantage. He squinted over the heads, his face soon darkening.

"There's a checkpoint up there," he said. "Praetorians are stopping people and asking questions."

Eve looked thoughtful. "Maybe we can risk it. That is the quickest way back."

"Too risky." Virgil shook his head. "They probably have your description."

They looked around them. Virgil turned away from the checkpoint, rubbing his chin. Glancing about the crowded street, Eve leaned against a stall letting her eyes play out past the old buildings and the crowds headed toward the checkpoint in the hazy distance. A mischievous grin slowly appeared on her face. She tapped Virgil. "I think I found a solution," she said.

"Does it involve running? Because if it does, forget it."

"Not running..." She slowly motioned down the avenue, toward the construction and the scaffolds that led up and over the street. "Climbing."

Virgil swallowed hard. "Uh uh. No way," he protested. The poet then searched futilely for an alternative, scouring the area for something, anything, found nothing and ran a hand with frantic distraction through his hair. "The death of me?" He threw up his arms histrionically. "This woman will be the death of me," he said to no one, to everyone, finally shaking his head, a resigned smile curling back his lips.

Eve smiled. "At least there's no running."

"No, just extreme heights and a desperate balancing act, that's all."

"I didn't say it was an easy solution." She patted his cheek. "Let's go."

"I never said I was a '_warrior_ poet,' y'know?" Virgil called out, but Eve had already begun moving toward a nearby building that had a façade covered with scaffolding. He shuffled after her.

The poet looked to the faces of the passersby, sweaty, hungry, nervous, he wondered what would happen to Rome as Nero's fist closed upon it. There was a layer of dust hanging over the city as it slowly teetered toward dusk. It looked like smoke, like ash.

They looked around and then nonchalantly ascended a ladder up to a first floor scaffold. There was a better view of the city as the buildings sagged down the side of the Capitoline toward the Forum, rooftops blurry-white in the shift of humidity. Virgil tried not to think of Mira, of Joshua, but didn't have much success. He sighed. Swallowing hard, he followed Eve through an open window, into an empty room. He was thirsty.

The room opened up into a hallway. Eve poked her head out and looked around. She led them up a staircase and into another room, this one filled with scattered tools and piles of wood. They looked through another window out onto a high scaffold. A stepladder led up to a third story platform that had a ladder bridge, leading to a rooftop across the way. A crane for lifting supplies leaned over the bridge.

"Uh..." Virgil blinked with worry at the thin bridge.

"Yeah." Eve nodded, putting a steadying hand on her old friend's shoulder.

Suddenly, they heard voices from behind. The poet slipped back toward the door and glanced into the hall. Workmen spoke, moved boxes, were coming closer. In a panic, Virgil shut the door quietly and barred it with a heavy crate. He shrugged, looking at Eve. "Guess there's only one way to go now, huh?"

She smiled and stepped out through the window. Virgil sighed and followed close behind. Soon, they had made their way up to the precarious looking ladder bridge. Looking down momentarily, Virgil felt his stomach pitch, his nausea returning. "Gods," he whispered over a gag. The street gaped beneath them, its expanse pulling him, threatening to throw him down onto the masses roiling like ants below.

Eve stepped out onto the ladder, her balance steady. "Just don't look down," she called back to him.

"Thanks, Eve. Thanks." He took a deep breath and stepped out, keeping his eyes fixed on a clasp in Eve's hair. They moved one cautious step after another like this, slowly. Carefully they placed their feet on the rungs of the horizontal ladder, holding desperately on to their balance. Virgil started to relax -- as much as he could, suspended high above the street as he was.

Without warning, halfway across the bridge, Eve halted, and it took a lot for the poet to avoid crashing into her. "Eve?"

"We have a problem..." was all she said.

Carefully peeking around her, Virgil looked toward the other side. Stepping out onto the ladder was a tall figure, cloaked in blue. Squinting, Virgil could see that it was a woman. A woman with exceptional balance, judging by the relaxed strides she took toward them.

"Well, this isn't good, is it?"

"No. It really isn't."

The cowled woman drew a sword from its scabbard on her back, and continued her advance.

***

"Son of a Bacchae!" Mira cursed. "Open up, will ya!"

The girl prepared to launch a punch at the trap door in the ceiling, thought better of it, and shook her fist at the sealed portal instead. A low growl escaped her, falling hollow in the growing darkness of the basement. She sighed, and began to push up on the newly discovered door again. It gave only enough to keep her trying.

The discovery of the possible exit had been a bright hope for them at the time. A hope that soon became a determined struggle, which faded quickly into a frustration and now bordered on black despair. For a candle mark they had been poking, pushing, prodding at the almost invisible seam that indicated a door to the floor above them. Mira slammed her fist into the ceiling.

"Quiet," Joshua said from behind her.

She scowled up as dust sprinkled her face, coated her eyelashes. "Aw, who cares, anymore?"

"Come on, time to switch." Joshua indicated that she should step down and let him try. With a shrug, Mira reluctantly left her position and the boy scampered up the various footholds among the dusty crates to the absence of light where they had discovered the portal. He slid his fingers along the edges.

Mira blinked up, with a skeptical squint. "Aren't you supposed to know about this stuff? Your dad's a carpenter, right?"

"It's not that simple." He continued to search. "Aren't you supposed to know about this stuff? You're the Princess of Thieves, supposedly -- doesn't a locked door fall under your jurisdiction?"

She crossed her arms. "Cute." It was hard to breathe in the mold and dust crowded air. She growled. A small pot-shard came apart under her foot. "This is all Gabrielle's fault..."

Joshua stopped looking. "What?"

"This. Where we are. This is all Gabrielle's fault."

"I seem to remember that you suggested we hide in here."

Mira's nostrils flared. "That's not my point. Gabrielle is the one who tracks down and rescues missing people. Not Eve. Not Virgil. Not us." The girl chewed on a thin braid of her hair. Her ire stirred anew and she swept her hands in front of her. "She's supposed to be the big hero, the fierce warrior -- well, where in Tartarus is she? Where is she?" Her fists were bunched tightly.

"Hey, c'mon."

Mira exhaled. "Even when she is around, she's not, y'know? Ugh!"

Joshua grimaced down at her. "She seems to have a lot on her mind."

"Well it's not like I would know. Not like she tells me anything..." She turned her back.

Looking up at the trap door, Joshua spoke back over his shoulder. "Come up here for a sec, I need your help."

Mira sniffed and slowly made her way over, climbing up the crates and falling in beside him. A frustrated heat was palpable between them. Joshua squinted up. He grabbed her hands and moved them to a position in the seams. Mira blinked at him for a moment, and then complied. "I need you to apply pressure upward, here," he said. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

With a sudden jolt, Joshua thrust upward at one of the door's corners, pitching it up and sideways. The portal came loose, along with a pile of sooty debris and pieces of wood that spilled upon them, knocking them backwards to the floor. Mira coughed and rubbed her head. She was covered in dust and chips of old wood. Brushing herself off, she called out. "Joshua? You okay?"

"Yeah." She heard him cough. "A dead cat fell on me, though."

They laughed and coughed for a bit. Mira peered up into the dusty hole in the ceiling. Tired sunlight poured through the soot-crowded air. "Well, let's see where this goes." She climbed up and pushed through the portal.

Helping Joshua up, Mira looked around the room. It was in complete rot and disarray, moldy furniture and broken bits of wood and pottery lay scattered everywhere. The windows were boarded here too, but more light trickled in. Hallways led to other rooms.

Joshua sniffed. "It doesn't smell as good as downstairs, but I'll take it."

"Come on." She grabbed his hand and led him away from the street side of the house and down a ruined hall. They passed through a room where much of the ceiling had caved in and they had to step over the remains. Soon, they had passed to the rear of the abandoned building and found a boarded doorway. Mira stopped and looked for a hole in the wall. She knelt by a small fissure and peeked out. As she had suspected it might, this side of the home opened onto a simple courtyard. The courtyard seemed empty.

Mira looked back at Joshua and shrugged. "I guess this is it." She got to her feet and moved to the door. With a quick kick, she managed to loosen the boards enough to finish the job with her hands and create a hole near the floor that was large enough for them. "Here we go."

They slid out into the shaded space. The courtyard was overgrown with weeds, tall grass, and filled with the burr of locusts. Mira moved to the side of the house to check back toward the street. Soldiers passed, but were far enough away that she didn't need to worry. When she returned to the yard she found Joshua peering over the back fence. He turned to her from across the cluttered space and shrugged. "Looks okay, I guess."

Just over the fence was a short but steep sandy embankment rough with scrub that cut between collections of old buildings, leading down to an alley. Mira considered it, rubbing her chin. "Looks good enough to me," she said, and sprang up nimbly onto the fence. "Let's go."

They fought for grip, sliding uneasily down the incline, a light cloud of dust kicked up in their wake. Joshua stumbled, rocks spilling out beneath him teetering him too far to one side, but Mira managed to grab at his belt and compensate. He smiled sheepishly in thanks. Soon, they had descended to the alley and jogged toward a shaded intersection nearby.

After a quick check, they were soon moving along a moderately busy avenue, blending as well as they could with the crowd. Mira started to move them around the other side of the Capitoline, hoping to find a way back home. There seemed to be fewer soldiers where they were heading.

Mira shrugged. "This might just work out after all."

"Yeah..." Joshua responded absently.

They continued along. Mira blinked at the boy. "What is it?"

"What about the lost Elians?"

"What about them?" Mira furrowed her brows. "If Eve and Virgil found them, then great; if not, there's nothing we can do about it except rendezvous back at the mansion, right?"

Joshua stopped, crossing his arms. "Are you so sure?"

"Um, yeah." Mira's hands went to her hips. "In case I didn't already say it: I'm not a warrior. And I don't recall you mentioning it was your line of work either."

"I can't believe after that rescue that you pulled off--"

"Hey!" Mira cut him off, looking around the streets nervously. "Keep it down."

Joshua lowered his voice. "I can't believe after that rescue you pulled off, that you would doubt your abilities in this sort of thing." He squinted at her. "Gabrielle must have taught you a lot over the past two years, right?"

"Well, I suppose."

"Then?"

Mira darted her eyes around the avenue, then returned them to the boy. "Come on. Talk and walk." They moved off in the direction they had been heading earlier. Pushing a strand of hair from her face, Mira continued, "Look, maybe we could do this if we had an idea where they were -- but we don't."

"I know," Joshua said. "But we had a general idea where they were. We could start there."

Mira took an unexpected turn down another street taking them slightly off course. "Look, right now we have other problems," she said. "Those sad dressers are back. They're following us."

Joshua tensed but kept moving. They wound through a tight crowd, but Mira knew the two men trailing them would follow easily. As they passed through an intersection, they gained another pursuer. "They're corralling us," Mira said.

Joshua swallowed hard then smirked at her. "Why don't we let ourselves be corralled?"

Mira turned, wide-eyed. "Excuse me? I'm not sure I heard you right.

"Yeah," the boy nodded, more confident. "Why don't we let them catch us? Maybe that's how we find the Elians."

"Or maybe that's how we find ourselves robbed and dead in an alley," Mira said. They continued to wind through the street, the late afternoon crowds growing. "There's no way to know that these are the guys who have the Elians." She shook her head. "There's no way to even know that anyone has the Elians -- that's the problem!"

Joshua narrowed his eyes slyly. "Then we'll just have to take a risk, won't we?"

Mira looked ahead, noticing a ramshackle marketplace along the sides of the street. She also noticed several bulky men standing about with cloaks covering black clothing that peeked out at the knees and ankles. With a roll of her eyes she considered the options, which meant, as always, that she was in trouble and when Mira was in trouble she had a tendency to choose the most reckless of her options. Far be it from me to go against my pattern?

"Even if we find them, pulling off a rescue is going to be tough -- maybe impossible." Mira smirked. "You know this is crazy, right?" she asked him.

"Absolutely insane," he smiled.

Shaking her head, she smiled in resignation as her stomach began to tighten. "Alright, let's do this, before I change my mind." They turned back toward the stalls; Mira called out, "Hey! Lookin' for us?"

Holding hands, they strolled toward the hastily approaching men.

***

"I really need to stop hanging out with you and your family." Virgil peered over Eve's shoulder at the steadily approaching figure.

"Think of how boring life would be," Eve replied, crouching into a battle stance.

"I'm willing to take the chance."

The stranger moved in quickly, leading with a quick slash at Eve's waist. To Virgil's amazement it only cut empty air, as his friend flipped easily over their attacker's head -- leaving him in direct line of sight of the woman, he was quick to notice. Shifting sideways, the attacker kept herself in a defensive posture between the two friends.

Virgil blinked at the woman, then to Eve, not sure what to do. Smirking at the poet, Eve moved skillfully in to attack, using an overhand chop as a feint that collapsed into a roundhouse kick. Blocking with difficulty, the attacker shifted balance and brought her sword to bear in a downward motion. Eve clapped her hands together, catching the weapon in her palms with a slap.

"Gods!" Virgil gawked at his friend, unsure of his footing on the ladder bridge and still unable to commit to any sort of attack. Finally, noticing that the strange woman was unable to free her blade from Eve's grasp, he decided to take advantage of the opening and threw a kick at her back.

Letting go of her sword, the attacker spun, blocking the poet's kick and delivering a crushing right cross to his jaw, sending him reeling off of the bridge. With frantic, spinning arms, he managed to grab at the rungs and prevent a fall to the street below. He did his best not to look down.

"Virgil!" Eve still clasped the blade, held pommel out within her palms, and prepared to move to help her friend. The attacker spun into a dangerous aerial cartwheel kick, bringing both feet down at Eve, who let go of the sword and back flipped out of harm's way. With surprising speed, the stranger managed to catch the falling weapon at the end of her strike.

"Uhm... Eve? If it's not too much trouble?" Virgil struggled to pull himself up.

Eve rolled at their attacker, who deftly sprang over her. Uncurling near Virgil, Eve reached down, grasped his struggling forearms and began to lift. "Hang in there," she chuckled.

"Ha. Ha." He smirked dryly. His eyes widened suddenly. "Look out!"

Eve managed to swing her forearm around to block an attack at the last moment. Virgil slid downwards slightly, as Eve let go of him to deliver a foot sweep at their foe. "You teach this sort of thing to all of the Elians?"

The two women traded attacks again. Eve didn't leave Virgil's side, though still not able to offer him any real assistance. The poet began to hoist himself up again. "If you want something done around here..."

Eve fended off another strike, counter attacking quickly with a series of lightning fast kicks that backed off their attacker. She turned to Virgil. "Stay where you are."

"Wha?"

As their assailant moved in again, Eve dropped carefully from the bridge, grabbing the legs of the stunned poet. She smiled up at him. "Swing me back up there."

Shaking his head, Virgil rocked himself with difficulty back and forth. His grip was slipping rapidly. "I don't know who you think I am, Eve," he grunted. Soon, with Eve's help, he pitched her over the side of the ladder back up onto its surface. She made sure to land behind their foe and fell upon her, gripping her in a crushing headlock. The two women struggled to gain an advantage as they grappled fiercely in this way.

Finally able to swing a leg up, Virgil pulled himself back up onto the bridge. Taking a deep breath and steadying his ever-roiling gut, he got to his feet and slowly moved toward the wrestling women.

Suddenly, the stranger found an opening and thrust a powerful elbow into Eve's abdomen, freeing herself of the acolyte's grip. The woman straightened into a stiletto-like posture and dropped between two rungs in the ladder. Eve could only watch, mouth agape, fingers still clutched around her foe's unraveling cowl. The woman grabbed a rung at the last moment and swung herself back through the ladder and upward in a two-footed attack, knocking Eve from the bridge and toward the crane at its side.

Virgil watched as the strange woman, now unmasked, turned and moved with dark purpose toward him. Her closely cropped stubble of hair, the intense, unforgiving eyes, all the more menacing as she recovered her sword and tested it with a few feints through the open air. "Uhm? maybe we can talk about this?" He blinked as she continued to approach. "No, huh?"

From her vantage on the crane, Eve didn't like the looks of Virgil's chances. Raising the platform to the level of the bridge, she began to swing it back and forth in wider and more dramatic arcs toward the ladder, and Virgil.

The poet continued to back away from his imposing attacker, until he heard a commotion from behind him. Several Praetorians had poured out onto the walkway and were advancing toward him as well. He swallowed hard. "Ho boy?"

He could smell the oil that the soldiers used on their swords, wafting to his nostrils on the breeze.

"Virgil! Get ready!"

Not even able to grunt in exclamation, the poet was grabbed by a swinging Eve and carried off of the bridge, as the acolyte tossed a lever that let out the slack in the crane. The platform plummeted quickly (too quickly for Virgil) toward the ground and the scattering crowds of the market, the rope beginning to burn in its pulley. Watching their attackers high above him now, Virgil began to relax a little.

"Well, sometimes this hero thing is not quite bad, is it?" He straightened suddenly. "Oh good gods..." was all he managed as the platform crashed into a fruit stall, spilling the two friends and various over-ripe fruit about the ground.

"Great landing, Eve," the poet sighed.

"I thought so," she smiled, helping him up. They quickly disappeared into the crowd, heading once again for home.

On the bridge, Octavia sheathed her sword, watching them wend their way to the north. She crossed her arms and nodded to the approaching Praetorian. "This little exercise appears to have succeeded. Good job."

The man nodded. "We've opened the routes to the Quirinal hill again, Commander, hopefully the Emperor's hunch is correct."

"I'm sure it is, Lieutenant," Octavia said. She turned and moved back to the other side of the bridge, eager to return to the street and her pursuit.

***

There were still many hours of sunlight left, but Gabrielle could already discern the steady descent into nightfall upon the air. Crossing the busy Forum, she kept her eyes lowered, her linen cowl over her head, and pushed toward the Quirinal hill. Romans flitted nervously about her, shoving and cramming against one another in a sweaty jumble of bodies and tense energy.

She could smell the warhorses over the tang of humanity. Over lowered heads, between bodies she caught a glimpse of chariots, soldiers, and a checkpoint of some sort. The warrior decided to figure out what was going on later, after she had returned to the mansion.

Eventually, she found it impossible to ascend the Quirinal from the main square. The closer she came to the avenues that climbed its palm-lush summit, the slower and more crowded the streets. She squinted through the moving figures at the cluster of Praetorians directing the flow of traffic, pulling people aside for questioning.

_I don't like the looks of this..._

Reluctantly, the warrior receded into the crowd, hoping to make her way back to the Capitoline and perhaps swing around to approach the mansion from behind, along the northern wall of the city. It was easy going as the throng poured in that direction, spilling out toward the southern reaches of the Forum and to the thoroughfares beyond.

Walking in even, ponderous strides, Gabrielle felt a familiar tension drape over her. It wasn't until she recognized this that she truly realized that her mood had shifted since her audience with Aphrodite. The warrior smirked with a sardonic twist to her lips. It had been the closest thing to relaxation, or at the very least ease, she had experienced since arriving in Rome. The closest thing in how long?

The people pushed past her as she came to a stop. Smells, sounds were overwhelming now, she hadn't eaten and her head was light, full of wool. Shoulders, elbows jostled and bumped her almost spilling her to the ground as she lost her center of balance briefly. Someone, she never saw who, pulled her gently to a crate near a stall and sat her down.

"Rest," they said.

_Rest..._

_When some people used this word, it seemed that it had deeper meaning than what we knew of it. It seemed to encompass something far more profound than the dreamless and desperate sleep clutched between cities or towns or battles¾something greater than simple regeneration of the body. Sometimes I felt that perhaps this incarnation of the word had almost nothing to do with sleep at all, and I would pass the faces of farmers or blacksmiths or priestesses finding a quality there that I could only describe as: 'well-rested,' despite having completed a full day's labor._

_Even asleep, your muscles rippled, sleepless as the sea. Bare thighs pulsing, the lattice of your back in tumult, your jaw clenched in determination and focus pointed inward. Sometimes, this energy drew me and I would fall upon you, my lips hard against your neck, to your breast, hoping to leech it from you, all of it and give you what was unasked for but what parts of you craved oh, so dearly. Later, side-by-side we listened to our breath grow shallow, felt skin grow cool once more and I knew that I had failed again._

_Still other days I hated it: the restlessness -- your restlessness. I didn't understand it back then at all, thought that only I carried about this empty place inside, this yearning. There were a few times, beyond the ones you know of, that I thought of leaving. That I thought of fading into the night and finding a place to rest, away from the running, the motion. It never stopped. It never stops._

_And the places we found for ourselves were revealed at the wrong times. That's what we told ourselves, wasn't it? Or we were convinced that coming to a standstill was an impossibility? That it was selfish? And maybe it was, but selflessness forces you to let go of, to sacrifice everything, maybe even that which you cannot afford to lose._

_Even now, I chase you from place to place, walk in your footsteps. A ghost, as you once were, moving between trees, inhabiting corners of rooms, the trickles of darkness at the edges of things -- heading with silent and unspoken purpose in one direction without an end, without rest..._

A strand of hair dropped into Gabrielle's eye. She sighed, raising her head to the swarm of Romans moving through the Forum. Getting to her feet, she re-assessed her position in the city. The streets ascending the Capitoline hill were nearby and she moved with purpose toward them.

The warrior soon found herself walking through shaded markets and alleyways, gaining ground quickly in a move for the Servian wall's northwest edge. While the streets remained crowded, movement seemed to be unhindered and flowing. Gabrielle moved faster, entering a ragged looking market.

"Hey! Lookin' for us?"

The warrior stopped dead. It was Mira's voice and nearby. She turned and spotted a group of men heading with sinister purpose toward a worried-looking Mira and Joshua. The men circled and captured the seemingly surrendering youths.

Gabrielle shot into motion, assessing combat as she approached. There were at least six men, two with weapons visible, all seemingly capable fighters if their stances were indication.

_The element of surprise claims one, my next strike another, after that..._

Her eyes darted about the immediate area. Just above the approaching men a scaffold held a heavy-looking collection of planks. Gabrielle moved in, silent and quick.

A swift kick to the base of the neck incapacitated the first man, sending him tumbling toward the supports of the scaffolding. He crashed solidly into the pole shuddering it loose, tipping the heavy lumber onto two more of his comrades, who screamed in surprise before falling into unconsciousness. Debris spilled across the market as people scrambled out of the way. The pole rolled to a stop nearby. Gabrielle delivered a foot sweep and crushing blow to the chest of another attacker before any could collect themselves and mount a defense.

She lowered her cowl. _Now the witty and/or heroic remark..._ "Let them go," she said. "And maybe not all of you get hurt."

"Gabrielle!" Mira's face brightened then grew concerned. "Look out, there's--" One of the men wrapped a large forearm around her face and lifted her from the ground. His counterpart did the same with Joshua and they began moving the struggling pair out of the market.

More men emerged from the crowd, circling the warrior. They carried ornate and deadly looking weapons, freshly sharpened. Gabrielle noted some of the detailing, committing it to memory. She rolled her foot under the nearby scaffolding pole, kicking it up to her hands. The metallic weight wasn't perfect, but it would do.

With a battle cry, the warrior moved directly at the attacker who barred her way to Mira's captors. Using a quick feint for the head with her 'staff,' she swept his legs from under him and vaulted out of the circle of men and into a sprint. She had to hurry as it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep an eye on her friends' position through the crowd. The pack of warriors followed looking for a chance to surround Gabrielle.

She gained ground on the kidnappers and one had to fade back to deal with her. His overhand chop with a sword sent sparks off of the 'staff' as she blocked it. The subsequent slashes and blocks told of the man's training. While surprise had helped Gabrielle fell several of these men, it would become increasingly difficult to fight them one-to-one, or worse. Pushing citizens out of the way, the other men prepared to attack the warrior from behind.

Quickly planting the staff at an acute angle in the ground, she led her opponent into a downward chop for her hands. Releasing her hold on the staff, the man's blow swung the iron pole out of the ground and into his groin. Gabrielle regained the staff as he collapsed to the ground in agony.

"Gabrielllllllle!!!" Mira's voice, further away now.

With a spin, the warrior had her weapon anchored within the pit of her arm pointed outward, an extension of her reach, keeping the attackers at bay. She backed away to resume the chase. The men followed her into the crowd.

Mira and Joshua were carried down an alley up ahead. Gabrielle broke into a sprint, expertly darting in and out of the crowd. She began to put some distance between herself and the pursuers, while also gaining ground on her prey. Her ribs began to throb.

As she approached the alley, she dodged suddenly-arrows entered the ground where she once stood. Her ears detected more on the breeze and she swatted bolts from the air with the staff, back-flipping out of the line of fire. Archers on the roofs reloaded and took aim. She squinted up at them. _And me without my chakram..._

The warrior sprinted past the alley, hoping to arc back around, out of the range of archers from down another street. Turning, she managed to see Mira's captors round a corner at the end of the alley, fading further into the maze of back streets on the Capitoline. She could also see Mira pounding on the back of one of their heads to no avail and heard her yells echoing off the buildings. "Let me go, you big jerk!"

Gabrielle moved for another alleyway, but had to dodge a heavy rain of arrows. The archers had anticipated her move and had gained the buildings surrounding her route, while also managing to flank her position. She backed off and tried to back track. _These aren't your average goons..._

Several of the men who had been following moved in to attack. She crouched, bringing the staff to bear on one of her adversary's kneecaps, shattering it and other bones in the man's leg with a perfectly placed strike. Spinning quickly into an aerial cartwheel, she blocked a spear thrust, twisting the weapon from the man's hands and launching it at another's abdomen where it sank easily through leather armor.

Gabrielle growled in frustration. More arrows. She dove out of the way and right into an attack. The man's swing was too wide and the warrior was able to block his club easily and slam her staff across his face. Blood erupted from beneath the black fabric.

"Hold!" a voice boomed. Praetorians appeared, coming from the south, weapons readied.

She ran for the alley, there was no other choice. Arrows screamed through the air, scattering the already panicking crowds and creating more chaos around her. Her footfalls echoed upon the high walls of the passage as she broke through. Her ribs burned in her chest like embers split apart on the bottom of a hearth.

Gabrielle's heart sank as she rounded the corner. The alley branched off quickly in several directions and there was no sign of her friends. She had to keep moving as voices could be heard behind her. Tracking as best as she could, the warrior moved along the back streets at a speedy pace.

Soon, it was apparent that, while she had lost her pursuers, she had also lost Mira's trail. Raising her cowl, she moved carefully down the Capitoline, heading back to the Forum. She entered the great expanse and blended easily into the crowds of early evening, moving with renewed determination toward the Quirinal hill.

Sniffing, the warrior no longer detected the presence of warhorses nearby. As she approached the ascent toward Gallus' home, it was obvious that the checkpoints from earlier were no longer in place. While it piqued her interest, she could not waste any time mulling it over. She headed up the hill, passing quickly beneath the palms swaying in the whisper of breeze.

**********

The air, chilled by shade and marble, offered a welcome and cooling embrace as they entered the foyer of the mansion. Attendants approached to offer aid but Virgil waved them off. Eve smiled with exhaustion at one of the young girls. "The Senator, where is he?"

They moved through the home, the weariness of the chase, the battle, the flight to the mansion beginning to drag upon them, slow their steps. Clouded with fatigue they made their way out onto the balcony and back into the waning light of the afternoon.

Under a large parasol, at a far edge of the balcony, Gallus and Seneca ate a leisurely meal. Their faces tightened in increasing concern as their friends approached. The senator stood, offering his couch to them. Virgil remained standing, letting Eve put up her feet. Seneca sat up, pouring cups of water for the two friends.

Gallus looked to the poet, to Eve, then to Virgil again. "What has happened?"

Swallowing his water with a gasp, Virgil blinked sadly at the senator. "Mira and Joshua are missing."

"I can talk with Praetor Septimus," Gallus began. "He'll--"

"I don't think it was the Praetorians," Eve spoke from the couch. "Whoever has them, I think they have the others as well."

Seneca looked thoughtful. "The events of late do indicate that perhaps an unknown element is involved; that someone other than Nero might want Rome in its current state and is taking full advantage. But how can you be sure that our friends have been captured?"

"We don't have time to worry about it right now," Virgil said. "Nero knows our plans, I'm sure of it."

Gallus looked skeptical. "What? Impossible."

"We were followed by Imperial guards. We were attacked. They had been trailing us and they're shutting down the city in an effort to smoke us out. I'm sure of it."

Seneca rubbed his chin, looking to Eve. "You will need to get your people out of Rome as soon as you can."

"Should we really be making such rash moves, given the current unrest in the city?" Gallus crossed his arms. "This is just what Nero is waiting for -- he's handing us our own cross, are we going to nail ourselves to it, as well?"

"I agree that caution and restraint are required here, my friend," Seneca said. "But haste as well. The longer we wait, the more entrenched in the city the Praetorians become, the more accurate and damning the intelligence gathered by the Emperor's spies."

Virgil nodded. "We need to move and we need to move fast."

"What about Mira, Joshua, my friends?" Eve asked.

Gallus and Virgil exchanged a glance. Seneca peered out into the wall of palms that descended the western slope of the hill.

"Leave that to me." It was Gabrielle. She walked toward them from the house, a determination and purpose about her that caused Virgil's mouth to hang open slightly. The warrior had changed into her armor and equipped herself with her weapons.

Eve stood. "Where have you been?"

"It's none of your concern." Gabrielle crossed her arms. "I can't believe that you went out there on your own. That you didn't wait here until I returned."

"And how long were we supposed to wait? My friends were lost, they still are."

"That's right, they still are, and your irresponsibility may make it impossible to rescue them." The warrior was bristling with anger. "And now Mira and Joshua are lost, too. I thought you would know better, Eve."

"Gabrielle-" Virgil began to interject.

"I'll get to you in a second." Gabrielle snapped at the poet.

"Stay out of this, Virgil," Eve said. She turned to the warrior. "You weren't here. My people were in danger. A decision had to be made. If you're angry at yourself, it's no reason to project it at me, or Virgil, or anyone else."

"What?"

"And frankly, you were just as irresponsible for abandoning everyone in a time of crisis."

"We don't have time for this." The warrior clenched her fists, her inner conflict appearing to be only half attributable to Eve's comments. She closed her eyes, sighing. "I have to find them. If I don't return by the end of the night, carry on with your plans."

"Wait..." Eve reached out her hand.

Gabrielle turned and strode from the balcony and into the cool of the home. Soon she had made her way to the street and passed down into the city below the leaning palms and the shade of the marble balcony.

From her vantage point in the trees, Octavia smiled. She watched the warrior disappear down an alley and returned her attentions to the figures on the balcony -- the poet, the Elian acolyte, the senator and the exile: Seneca, himself. The emperor would be overjoyed at the news. She slid quietly down the trunk of the tree and through the tall grasses at its base. It would be a pleasing walk back to the Domus Aurea.

***

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that. Could you repeat what you said, please?" the God of War put a hand to his ear and leaned forward on his throne.

The priest before him swallowed hard, looking to the floor for some form of comfort. He adjusted his black tunic and tried to keep his voice from cracking. "We didn't capture Eve, my lord."

"See, that's what I thought you said." Ares crossed his arms, leaning back. "And now I'm supposed to spare your life because?"

"Your greatness, we have other prisoners. Perhaps of equal value to you?"

The god looked skeptically at the priest. "I highly doubt that, my friend." With a bored gesture Ares indicated that the man continue. "Bring them in."

Some shouts came from the hall, the sounds of a struggle, then four priests brought in two prisoners: a girl and a boy.

Ares face brightened with recognition. He rose to his feet. "Oh my." He chuckled menacingly. "This just might work out after all."

The God of War moved toward his prisoners, a menacing gleam in his eyes. "I just love the sidekicks." He smiled at Mira. "Not quite sure how you make getting captured seem so easy, but I thank you for it nevertheless."

"Who in Hades is this joker?" Mira sneered, before being shaken into silence by her captor.

"Your worst nightmare, my dear little Mira." Ares grinned. "Yours, too." He winked at a bewildered Joshua. "Well done my friends, well done," the God of War smirked. "Put them with the others, and continue with the preparations as before. We're entertaining some old friends this evening."

The priests left the hall with the teens shouting and kicking. Ares thought to himself for a moment, his hands on his hips. Soon, his laughter filled the old chamber, shaking its walls.

***

Along the Via Apia there are patrols of soldiers. Moving at an even pace in squads of twenty or so, two chariots, one officer, between way stations and back, every ten miles or so. They question all travelers extensively, moving them off the road, into the dry grass along its side. Most are sent on their way toward Rome. Some are detained, and taken to the city for questioning.

She had been able to avoid most of the patrols on Her run north. The land at the sides of the road was even enough not to slow Her pace, Her push to Rome. As She had gotten closer to the city, the patrols increased, were larger, they fanned out into the underbrush, became a problem. Finally, She had found it necessary to act.

Meridian throbbed with contentment as She returned it to the scabbard. The sounds of horses' hooves grew faint in the distance. There was some movement, noise coming from the slaughtered troops scattered about Her feet in the dry and bloody grass. Death rattles, quivers, bodies sliding with their full weight into the dust. She wiped sweat from Her upper lip. Birds resumed chirping as She stepped out of the circle of dead men and moved quietly toward the road. Soon, She broke into a full run.

Steady, powerful movement, the gnosis of pace, became Her focus. She sprinted in an unwavering arc for the northern horizon, Her cloak spilled out behind. Sparse trees, golden fields, farms all a blur at the periphery of Her vision, all only what lay between Her and Her goal. The milestones, shining in the slowly sinking sun, counted down: _XX, IXX, XVIII, XVII..._

The breeze against Her skin had a soothing affect. The steady pound of her legs, muscles tireless. She closed Her eyes...

_The wind tastes like disaster, like doom. It has the tang of endings, of tears and darkness. Still my legs carry me toward its strength, its origin, the dark inevitability of what I know I will find._

_This village, it is the centaur village I sprint across. Yet still I cannot remember. And still I run..._

_In the temple I find him. Slumped over like a rabbit. Limbs thin, limp, like a tiny rabbit. In my arms he is light, as frail as parchment, yet I feel as though I will drop him from the weight on my heart. So still?_

_\--Solan..._

_His name feels useless there on my tongue, in the air, as though it is dead, too. As though everything is dead, except me. And maybe it is._

_\--Xena? No!_

_And it is you, of course. It is always you, even here, now. The voice, the darkness in my chest, and I know it is you who is responsible, for this, for breaking my heart, for everything. Yet still I cannot remember. I turn to see your face, look into your eyes..._

She collapses hard against the road, twisting and rolling in the dust and grit. Her stomach lurches, threatening to expel its contents. She screams instead, but does not truly know why.

The face. It was the face from Her visions. And She hated it, even now, here. She shook the clouds, the visions from Her head.

She rose slowly to Her feet. Faint though searing pain flickered across the various scrapes that dotted Her bare legs, elbows. She broke into a run, moving again for the north and the city. Milestones renewed their countdown: _XII, XI, X..._ The wind dried Her tears before She reached the walls of Rome.

***

Little Figo never seemed to tire, his feet, even costumed in their crude hooves, were always in motion. The child darted in and out of the rows of pruned bushes, circling fruit trees as the other children gave clumsy chase. Upon his lips stretched a limitless smile scored by chimes of laughter.

A perfect little satyr, Nero thought to himself. They all are, he decided. The children chased and played half-clothed in their bizarre costumes within the serenity of the Emperor's new gardens at the Domus, as Nero ate a leisurely snack and watched, beside himself.

"Ho! Look there, Germina, Toscus will have you!" he shouted with a laugh.

The little girl giggled gleefully and flit between two sunflowers, the boy still giving chase. Nero took a happy bite from a peach and crossed his legs as he leaned back. As evening loomed, the temperature in the partly shaded garden began to approach comfortable. The Emperor tossed the pit aside and his hand reached out for his pan flute.

"Hey now! How about some music for the chase, hmm?"

He began a cheerful and speedy tune that effortlessly combined the warmth of the Dorian and the joy of the Mixolydian modes. The trilling music made the children all the more merry and they squealed with delight, spinning and madly dashing through the garden. Nero found it hard to not erupt into laughter at the near ridiculousness of his flute work and the satyr-costumed children, but he managed to continue.

Octavia entered the garden, approaching from the eastern gates that led up to the Domus. She seemed pleased with herself and so Nero kept playing his song. The children kept a distance from her as she passed through the garden toward him. With eyes a-twinkle, the Emperor switched the tune into a parody of a mournful funerary dirge before putting his instrument aside.

"Hello Octavia," he grinned. "I take it you've been busy today?"

"Indeed, Caesar, I have."

"And?"

"I tracked the movements of the poet Virgil as you requested and they have led me to..." her voiced trailed off as Nero's attention was on the children.

"Don't stop running!" he yelled angrily at them. "Just because there's no music doesn't mean you little fools can stop. You don't stop until I command it." He turned back to his bodyguard and rolled his eyes. "Already lazy little dogs like their parents. Anyway, you were saying?"

Octavia continued. "I followed Virgil as you asked. He was indeed the connection between several rogue elements here within the city."

"I see," Nero said, his eye occasionally following the less-enthusiastic children continue their games.

"Elements which include Senator Gallus, the Elians and Seneca himself," she finished with the tiniest smirk of triumph.

"Hoo hoo! So the old bastard is in the city!" the Emperor laughed. "This is good. This is good." He rubbed his chin, eyes twitching with an odd hunger. "And they're holed up, where? The Senator's?"

Octavia nodded. "I was surprised, myself."

The Emperor continued to ponder the situation. "We could of course have them all arrested immediately, but prudence seems in order here. Hmm?"

The children jogged sluggishly after each other, some tripping over their hoofed feet. Many were flushed, sweating, panting in an unhealthy way. One little boy scratched at a portion of skin that had been irritated into hives by the rubbing of his satyr costume.

Octavia turned to Nero, who was still lost in thought. "Caesar?"

"I have an idea about this. We will meet later to put it into motion," he said. "Good work, as always."

The bodyguard rose and bowed. Nero watched as she strode powerfully through the garden, past the tailored flora and sculptures. Occasionally, she had to step over the exhausted bodies of the children, who from a distance, appeared to be so many scattered corpses littering the short, brown grass.

***

The halls to the temple were old, half-formed out of a rough, white stone. Limited torchlight made it hard for Mira to see anything clearly. Not that it mattered. The big brutes dragging her and Joshua through the place weren't giving a guided tour. She struggled intermittently, but only out of a pretense that she not surrender entirely.

They stopped in front of a solid looking, wooden door that stood strengthened by iron bands and sturdy bronze bolts. One of their captors unlocked it with a large key. They were roughly thrown into a dimly lit chamber and then the door slammed and locked behind them.

"You'll regret that!" Mira shouted, half-heartedly, realizing how silly it sounded after it had left her mouth. In response, the guards' laughter echoed down the hall. "Whatever," she muttered. She began to immediately scrutinize the door's frame, the iron-barred window, anything that she could use for an escape.

"Umm... Mira?" Joshua called from the dark.

"Not now," she whispered. "I'm trying to get us out of here."

"Mira?" he called again.

In a huff, the girl turned. "What is it -- oh!" She blinked in surprise as her eyes adjusted to the shadows.

Throughout the low, rounded cell the missing Elians, about ten in all, sat blinking back at the bewildered girl. Joshua was kneeling near some of them. Mira stepped closer. "You're uh... you're all here?"

Joshua smiled. "I told ya we'd find them," he said.

"No one likes a know-it-all, kid," Mira retorted. "Now we've gotta find a way out of here." She looked around the cell. The low ceiling made it hard to walk about. She turned to a woman a little older than her. "How long have you been here, since this morning? Or since last night?"

"They came out of the night, after the escape," the tired looking woman replied. "We never made it into hiding."

"Have they fed you? Asked you any questions?"

"Mira," Joshua chastised lightly. "They're tired, scared."

She turned toward him, brows furrowed. "We need to know these things if we're going to even think of getting out of here."

"I just think you should--"

"It's probably best if you leave the thinking to me from now on," she said. "Okay?"

Joshua scowled then turned back to the Elians. Mira looked to the woman to have her answer. The woman shook her head. "They haven't given us anything to eat."

Mira nodded and moved back to the door. She tilted her head as she peeked through the tiny slat that served as a window. There didn't appear to be any guards in the hall.

"Hey!" Mira screamed suddenly and began kicking the door. "Hey! Hey! When are we gonna get somethin' to eat around here? Hey!"

This continued until soon, guards' footfalls could be heard coming down the hall. There was a loud thump on the door and a masked face appeared at the window.

"Listen kid," the guard growled. "If you don't shut up, I'll come in there and shut you up myself."

"Brilliant," Mira smirked. "I just want some food."

The guard gave an ambivalent look and began to leave. "Maybe later." His footfalls echoed into the distance.

Mira listened intently, not moving. She turned back to the room, the Elians and waved Joshua over. Taking his time, the boy strode over to the door. "What?" he asked.

"I can get us out of here."

"Mm-hmm..."

"Yeah, I'm gonna need everyone's help, but I think we can pull this off. It's gonna take some muscle but--"

"Do you even know who you're asking?" Joshua whispered sharply.

"Huh?"

"These people aren't going to 'muscle' anyone. That's the whole point."

Mira blinked. "But, that's just stupid. I'm not asking them to kill anyone, just over-power them. It's the only way we're gonna get out of here."

"It's not stupid. Stop being so narrow-minded."

"I'm not being narrow-minded," she growled. "I'm trying to get us out of here. Seems like I'm the only one who's interested in it."

Joshua took a breath and composed himself. He smiled. "Look, maybe that's not a bad idea."

"What?" She crossed her arms, trying to calm down, finding it hard.

"Maybe you should try to escape. It might be harder for the guards to notice one missing prisoner, than everyone," he said. "Plus, no one has to get hurt."

Mira sighed, thinking about it. Her eyes darted from side to side as a plan quickly formed in her head. She smirked. "Just full of good ideas, huh?" Her face became more serious, almost apologetic. "I'll never tell you not to think again..."

Joshua shrugged. "You just do what it is you do."

"And you do the same," Mira smiled, indicating the Elians. Joshua nodded and moved back into the room.

For a candle mark, Mira sat crouched beside the door, watching as Joshua moved among the other prisoners. Speaking in a soothing voice, touching them gently, he managed to lift their spirits, even without any sort of food or water to offer. The kid seemed good at that whole thing, seemed to enjoy it.

She smiled to herself. When food was served, she could escape. The plan was already in place, would require only Joshua's help to succeed. Then she could get out of here and get help. Gabrielle was probably nearby anyway. The warrior had been at the market; had tried to rescue them, she must have followed the goons that had captured them. She might be outside the temple right now.

Mira sighed. She needed to rely on herself alone. She kept telling herself that.

Suddenly, guards' steps could be heard coming down the hall. She nodded to Joshua. This was it...

The door swung open and Mira remained still, quiet, in the shadows. For this to work, she had to remain unseen and wait for an opening. A guard remained just outside the door, as others entered the room, crossbows in hand. Against her instincts, Mira remained still.

"Which one of you skinnies is Joshua?" a guard asked.

Joshua stepped forward as bravely as he could. "That's me."

Two of the men moved for the boy, grabbing him. "You're coming with us, kid."

Mira almost shot to her feet, but her eyes met Joshua's. He shook his head quickly, in a silent plea for her to remain unnoticed. Holding her breath, she knew he was right. Any extra attention would implant her firmly in the guards' memories. They would immediately notice her absence. The plan had to be put on hold if they were to pull it off at all.

She rolled softly onto her side, back to the door, in a mime of sleep. The door slammed, echoing with a grave finality. She listened to the footsteps echo down the hallway, disappearing into the cold stone vaults of the temple.

***

_The city is burning, curled and smoldering below me, at my feet. I watch the southern walls fall, eroded and set ablaze. Soon, my armies will claim the breach and flood the city in earnest. By nightfall, it will belong to me._

_I have to ignore the flush my body falls prey to, the customary heat from proximity to battle, from victory. The thought of lust's indulgence is tempting, but foolish nevertheless. My hands remain steady at my sides._

_With temptation sublimated, another familiar emotion reveals itself, stronger, darker. Indulging it or not is out of my control, it falls upon me as a fever. At first, I thought perhaps vengeance would scatter it from me. Then this campaign, this swath I have carved through Hellas. But these are impotent cures for my ailment, that special sickness._

_I had hoped all of this would help me forget him, would set things right, somehow, but I have only forgotten myself in it all¾obscured everything I am in darkness so that nothing is right. Perhaps this is what it means to become a woman. Or is it just what it means to be me?_

_I have seen the future. Reflected in men's shields, faceplates, the ember of fear in their eyes just before clouding over with the fog of death¾in those glorious places I have seen what lies ahead. I have seen my own face there, reflected, twisted, magnified and brilliant, pale and terrible._

_And I am afraid. Not of the future, or of my destiny, but of the past, out of reach. All of the flames of Prometheus cannot burn away the walls of those places behind me, or light my way back through the smaller passages of my history, my choices._

_The outer wall finishes its collapse, tongues of fire lolling in the afternoon glow. The mood has passed me, leaving its darkness, its hate. I pick up my sword from the ground._

_I've asked the guards to let the assassins through. They never understand this, they worry. For me it is a simple exercise, a healing, as temporary as it may be¾a way to exorcise it all. Besides, if they have the courage to come this far, they should be given the chance to carry out their plans, meet their destiny._

_They are in the trees at the edge of the clearing, like little birds prancing over twigs in the still mornings. I turn to face them. My nudity confuses them for only a second; it is more for me than for some form of distraction or advantage. It gives me hope that what I'm doing might lead to a rebirth of some kind, to a new purity._

_The three of them are unskilled; there is no plan, no imagination, only the anger¾this I understand. They die their unspectacular deaths in the dust at my feet, perhaps farther from their homes than they have ever been. One utters a word, a name perhaps before falling into nothingness¾maybe it was a curse._

_I drop my sword to the ground. There is blood spattered on my naked skin, my face and hair. I smile. Rebirth is always such dirty business and never ever pure..._

There were children in the square below Her. Shouts bounced with a playful lift upon the shaded buildings and up to the rooftop where She crouched. A pain gripped Her jaw and She relaxed it, letting everything return to Her: Her surroundings, Her mission.

Vengeance was Her being, Her existence, and She was on a mission of vengeance now. Her Master's favor was faltering and She meant to put it right. Never was Her purpose clearer or more personal. The muscles in Her legs tightened.

The children chased a dog across the dusty square, screaming lazily in the heat, circling around an empty fountain. The dog barked happily, its tail held high, bushy with excitement. In a doorway, two people watched, hand in hand, faces obscured in the brown shade. She closed Her eyes, still perched upon the edge of the roof...

_Your face, Gods, your beautiful face. Looking down upon you as you slept, watching as you spoke, I lost myself over you. Tortured myself with thoughts of the gifts I could place upon your lips, your eyelids or becoming astray in the labyrinth of your gaze._

_And on that morning after Illusia, after everything, I did the same. Reborn from the water, I watched you sleep. I watched your beautiful face dusted with dreams and felt it all again, re-igniting warm in my chest._

_I had gone on patrol. I waited by a slow stream, my reflection held there by lazy morning light through the trees. The warmth was still there, but the darkness, too. I thought I hadn't the tears left, but I cried._

_The path back was empty of threat. I sat silently, watching you sleep, watching your face. Gods, your beautiful face. The face of the one who broke my heart..._

Screaming. She opened Her eyes and the children were screaming. Some ran across the square and into doorways, others pointed upward toward Her. Men stormed out of houses, shouting up at Her. She stood, cloak unfurling. With three simple strides She was gone from their sight, an apparition of late afternoon.

***

The merchants had done their best to clean up the ragged marketplace, shifting the debris of the recent skirmish into small piles or even burning what they couldn't repair or reuse. Gabrielle strode through the space, a light, gray cloak over her shoulders, obscuring her armaments. She passed the accusatory faces of those sellers savvy enough to recognize her from earlier and deterred most of them with a hard stare, or scowl when necessary. The warrior trained her gaze across the earth in a steady search, back and forth, back again. Anything of value had been scavenged or trashed at this point. She sighed.

Her hair still retained its dry and dirty feel as her fingers moved through it. She had failed the girl. She pushed the usual visions of what Mira might be going through from her vivid imagination. She had failed them all. Eve. Virgil. The Girl. _Big surprise... _Her stomach groaned. _What a mess..._

The evening approached, slowly lifting the humidity of afternoon, but still leaving the intense heat. She let the part of herself still floating on the rush of joy (was it joy?) that she had been feeling since her trip to Aphrodite's temple come to the fore. That selfish part pulling her toward a new purpose, a new mission. How could she deny its grip, its attraction? How could she ignore it, no matter what or who was at stake?

_That night in the grove, our secret valley, after, when you held me, I had felt giddy, like pollen floating upon spring breezes. I teased you a little..._

_-What if I ran away?_

_I was surprised then that you would play along. Now, I know that it was silly to think that you wouldn't._

_-Well...I would follow you. For as long as it took to find you, then I would beg for you to return._

_-Even if I had sailed to some far off kingdom?_

_-You? Sailing? Pfft..._

_-Xee-naa..._

_-Okay, okay. Of course I would brave the seas-_

_-All of them?_

_-Yes... all of them. I would brave all of the seas and come find you. Y'know, Jason and his buddies are close personal friends of mine..._

_-What if I had married a prince...don't laugh...what if I had married a prince and lived in a castle?_

_-I would ask for an audience with your majesty, and still beg for you to return to me._

_-What if I wouldn't see you?_

_-I would camp out before the castle walls, in a tent made of silk in your favorite colors and would not eat or drink and would not leave until you saw me._

_-What if the prince was jealous? What if he sent his best men after you?_

_-I would defeat them all._

_-Pretty cocky, huh?_

_-Given the circumstances, I don't see why not. I would go through anyone, anywhere to get you back._

_My chest filled, tingling with a sweet flutter. I squeezed you, yet still my mouth kept talking._

_-What if...what if I died?_

_I felt the idea weigh upon you, but of course you didn't waver, didn't change pace._

_-I told you Gabrielle: anyone, anywhere. Nothing will keep us apart..._

Gabrielle moved from the market, still vaguely tracing the route of the chase from earlier. Her eyes dripped, tears tracing murky lines down her cheeks. A sob burst from her, despite her best efforts. She ducked into an alley, steadying herself against a wall, still losing balance. She slid with pathetic abandon along the bricks to the dusty ground at the building's base.

She stared hopelessly at the garbage and clutter around her. Her hand brushed something metal. She held it in her fingers, steel sharpened to a fine point.

Bringing the arrowhead to her face, she remembered where exactly she sat: the alley Mira's captors had disappeared down, the alley the archers had kept her from. She scrutinized the design. It hinted at Spartan origin, especially in length, but lay somewhere between the best of Amazon and Persian in design. The warrior knew for a fact that such a mélange of influences was unlikely, even for Imperial blacksmiths.

She blinked down at the almost impossibly ornate patterns on the flat of the weapon-such detail rendered in such limited space. The designs were classically Hellenic: warriors, seemingly as far as the eye could see, striding into an unseen, perhaps never-ending battle. All beneath the early evening sky, below the gaze of the moon and...

Gabrielle jumped to her feet. Beneath the moon in the design, beckoning to the warriors, strengthening them, was the flaring majesty of the planet Mars. She ran back into the marketplace, the arrowhead clutched in her fist. The warrior found one of the merchants and grabbed him by his tunic. He tried to pull away, yelling, until he was caught in the power and determination of her gaze.

"Where's the nearest temple of the God of War?" she asked.

***

Joshua realized that the guards were bringing him back to the chamber where the guy who called himself their 'Worst Nightmare' had been. It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't putting up a struggle. He was starting to get used to being captured, tossed around by guards, sleeping in poor conditions and the like. The thought was somewhat unsettling.

The guards carried him for a bit then shoved him, allowing free movement momentarily, then grabbed him and carried him between them again. Soon, they approached the large door leading into the throne chamber.

He was pushed through the door into the chamber and tossed onto the floor. He looked up from the black marble, up over the stairs that led to the dais and up to throne. Upon the great chair sat the same dark, leather-clad man whom Joshua and Mira had seen before. Joshua swallowed with difficulty.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Ares, m'boy." The man smiled. "And have I got a deal for you..."

***

Still upon the rooftops, She looks down upon the weathered temple, Her goal. A black-armored guard paces upon the decaying walkway ringing the dome around the building like a crown. The rest would be inside. Her master does not fear discovery of his plans, it seems.

His priests are well-trained; devoted to his power and perhaps this is why he has dismissed Her own skills. She grimaces at the thought. True, She has been distracted by visions, the fog of strange dreams, and true, She had failed him days earlier, but Her devotion has never weakened. This mission would make things clear, or at the very least, simple for the God of War. She smirked.

Another vision threatens to cloud Her focus, but She shakes free, stays in the now. She is an instrument of nature and allows it into Herself. Sounds, smells, the feel of the roof slate beneath gauntleted fingertips; Nature surrounds and She is the dark force passing through it all. She is vengeance, pouring in inky streams and torrents through the blood, filling the chambers of the soul with choking pulp. She is fire, burning, scorching the city free of the pointless affairs of mankind, torching it all to powder, misplaced teeth and ruin. She is the steel and the sword plunged between ribs and marrow, piercing liver and lung, liberator of ichor and gore. She is Nemesis, Sword of the Gods.

She stands and with a simple, powerful thrust She takes to the air. Collecting the wind beneath itself, Her cloak bears Her with an odd gentle grace over the distance to the far side of the walkway. She lands without a sound.

Meridian throbs in anticipation under Her touch as She paces toward the unsuspecting guard. Using a low attack, She skewers the man through both thighs, pinning them together. His screams are loud, but fall uselessly over the streets. With a quarter twist She ruins the main arteries in his legs and pulls Meridian free-against the gentle protests of the sword. The man falls onto his back, gasping from the pain. Blood spills in impossible shades of black and red, splashing freely from the wounds in steady rhythms. She watches his face as each gout takes more of his life with it.

She stands, eyes smoldering and moves toward the door. The sun drops steadily, a ruined chariot swallowed in dying flame. Meridian pulses with a rolling murk, resting in Her fingers, warming in Her hand from a growing thirst as unquenchable as Her own.

***

The hall had been silent for more than a few minutes now. Earlier, there had been the clatter of soldiers, shouts of commands, the tramping of boots moving with purpose. Now, all was silent.

Mira peeked her head from out of the dusty closet she had been hiding in for the last three-quarters of a candle mark. She had assumed earlier that the soldiers had been onto her escape and were searching for her. But they had just stomped right by the closet-it would have been the first place she would have looked. She ran her hand through her hair, looked both ways down the hall and stepped tentatively from her moldy hiding place.

As she had hoped, the escape had been simple enough. Soon after Joshua had been removed, the guards had returned with food. Mira had remained curled and inconspicuous by the door. One of the Elians feigned a noisy and elaborate sickness that had both guards' attention and Mira slid easily out the door. For the first little bit, once she had been relieved to see that there had only been two guards, she had stealthily moved down the hall barefoot, her boots in her hands. The girl had moved back the way she had been dragged in and then found the closet, where she decided she could put her boots on and wait a short time, until she knew her escape had been successful.

The first order of business, she decided, was to find out the lay of the land. Mira figured she could tell Gabrielle when they met up, so they could rescue everyone. She moved down the hall and along a passage that sloped up toward a stairway. Silently she approached and began to ascend the stairs when she spotted a soldier, his back to her, standing at the top of the flight of steps.

For a second, she couldn't breathe. Then she thought for sure he would see her and her escape would be ruined. But he didn't move. She squinted up at him. He was leaning against the frame of the passage as if asleep, head slumped against the marble.

Mira slowly, without a sound, moved up the stairs on all fours, her hands spreading against the cool, ancient steps. Carefully, one at a time she approached the top. Suddenly, beneath her fingers was the sensation of slickness, of a warm fluid. She swallowed as her eyes struggled to see what she already knew was upon her skin-the dark stain of blood from where it had pooled at the top of the stairs. Standing, she glanced at the soldier, his hands clutched at a deep wound in his abdomen, his head almost severed by a vicious slash to the neck, his body held upright by a long dagger thrust through his shoulder and deep into the wall behind. Mira closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath.

The chamber beyond was covered in sprays and pools of blood. Several of the guards were splayed out, slaughtered, various limbs missing. Part of the girl felt excitement and a sort of joy at the idea that this had been Gabrielle's doing and that the warrior was somewhere in the temple looking for her. But Mira knew that her friend, no matter how enraged, was incapable of indiscriminate carnage on such a scale.

A chill passed over the girl. She moved quickly toward where she and Joshua had first been taken, hoping somewhat girlishly that he might still be there, might still be okay.

Along the hall, more bodies, blood, she looked away, toward her goal, moving in a steady and silent jog. As she approached the large doorway to the chamber, she had to move along the wall to avoid a large tangle of bodies lying broken and surprisingly bloodless in a large portion of the hallway. She passed into the room, her breath held.

The chamber was empty. Mira looked around frantically. There was no blood, no bodies-no Joshua. At the head of the dais were the remains of the large throne that big, loudmouth meathead guy had been sitting on. It appeared to have been shattered by one, powerful blow. The girl sighed then remembered the Elians.

Not caring about discovery, at least by the guards, Mira quickly passed through the chambers and halls, the dead guards and moved down to the prison cells. Her footfalls echoed loudly along the hall as she arrived at the cell, which was still locked. She peered inside. Empty. No sign of anyone anywhere.

"Gods..."

She blew a strand of hair from her face. There didn't seem to be any sign of struggle or death, but there weren't any Elians either. Mira turned to stare back down the hall. Am I the only one here left alive? She had been hidden in the closet for some time, close to a candle-mark but was it really long enough for some kind of jail break to occur?

She had to get out. _Think...Think..._ She tried to remember how they had been brought into the temple. There had been a really old, large door down a hallway near that throne room. Had they brought her in that way?

_Worth a shot..._

Mira moved quickly back upstairs, past the bodies and gore toward the throne room and then beyond. She remembered the stretch of hallway now-how it ended at the door that led outside. She passed a stairway leading further up into the temple. Then she was at the door, as she prepared to put her shoulder to it and push outside, clatter and yelling came from somewhere up the stairs. She bowed her head.

Immediately, the girl knew that if she didn't check to see if it was Joshua, she would never forgive herself. Does that make me brave or stupid? She was sure Gabrielle would have some wisecrack about it regardless.

Mira moved cautiously up the stairs, her stomach in uncomfortable knots. With each step she paused, her hearing reaching out, straining into the unknown space beyond. Was that a noise? Her heartbeat filled her ears, making it almost impossible to discern real sounds from those created in her overactive imagination. She sighed and continued to ascend.

There was an abundance of natural light on the upper floor, at least in comparison to the lower levels. Most of it, thick and syrupy with dusk, came from narrow spaces between slats boarding up the old windows and flowed into the room in jagged, thin stabs that fell upon various piles of debris, fallen statues or rusted weapons. Mira entered into a long meeting hall that was thankfully free of people, alive or dead. More stairs led up and apparently outside as light bled in from a slightly ajar trap door.

She stepped gingerly around the garbage and shattered sculpture, moving toward a doorway at the end of the large room. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, her lips open and dry. _What are you doing, Mira? What are you doing?_

Her breathing raged ahead of her, as though a toy once held in her hand which now slipped through her fingers, rolling just out of reach.

_What was that? _She stopped. A sound, behind her. There it was again, faint, a spat-dripping. She turned, something fell to the floor again, dark, soaking up the dust. _Don't look up..._ Her eyes, betraying her, arced to the ceiling, double her height.

It was the mouth she could make out first, the teeth seeming to push through the lips, then more blood dripped to the ground and she noticed the spear that pinned the man's twisted body to the ceiling, the spear that the growing tide of blood flowed along in larger and larger drops to the floor.

Something felt caught in her throat, in her soul as well, she couldn't move. Suddenly the man's hands fell from where they clutched the weapon and hung limply, fingers open. Mira reeled then stepped back, unable to breathe. She ran toward the room at the end of the chamber, away from the hanging guard-the serrated light of early evening strobed through the windows as she passed.

The room beyond was free of movement. It was about half the size of the previous chamber, and lit with the same spears of light. Furniture was pushed here, tables, chairs, couches, racks of rusted weapons, braziers, even large serving trays and silver goblets lay scattered or stacked about the room. Statues watched her with their timeless impassivity, or stood enigmatic, draped and unknown beneath cloth of black, or violet, or crimson. The humid stink of Rome was most detectable in this room, borne on the back of the rays of dusk and seeping through spaces between the boards.

Mira paced around the border of the room. She did her best not to shiver. _I've got a bad feeling about this..._

Suddenly her steps caused a violent flutter and commotion at her feet. Three pigeons took to the air in a violent bleating of wings, pushing frantically for a wide crack in the window and breaking one by one into the evening outside.

Startled, Mira screamed and stumbled back and to the right, tripping over a rise and bumping into a line of covered statues causing them to pitch into one another. The row systematically nudged one another, teetering dangerously but eventually righting themselves and coming to rest. All except the last one it seemed. The last one, taller than the rest and cloaked in a deep red seemed to pitch and spin, turning around as it fell from the rise to the floor. Mira readied herself for the crash, scrunching up her face.

There was no crash. The statue righted itself and stood tall before the girl. Its cloak fell open. Tears welled in Mira's eyes at her realization of who stood before her.

Nemesis drew Meridian from its scabbard. A slow, whispering scrape followed by the clear voice of steel on the air. Mira tried to speak, to say something to the figure before her. She could only blink. _This is a dream... this is so a dream..._

Terrified, the girl backed away almost unconsciously as Nemesis sprang with blinding speed to a table in front of her. Mira's foot caught upon a rotting box, tripping her and she fell to the ground, just as the flash of a sword swipe arced through where her head had been a moment before.

_Not a dream..._

She hit the ground, tangled up with part of a statue that began to topple upon her. Gasping, Mira rolled from under the looming statue as it pounded to the ground with a heavy thud. As the girl scrambled clumsily to her feet, she noticed that the assassin had sliced through the statue a second after she had rolled free.

Mira backed away, stomach in knots. _Get a hold of yourself...or you're dead..._ She wanted to run, but could not, the muscles in her legs betrayed her. She could only slink toward the door, unable to take her eyes from the cloaked woman.

Nemesis stood to full height. Light intensified against Her flawless silver armor and was swallowed by the dark blade in Her hand. A silver helm obscured most of Her features, but Mira knew she was terribly beautiful -- bronze skinned and dark haired. She began to stride toward Mira, long legs carrying Her quickly across the room.

"No!" Mira screamed, the sound jumping from her as she backed away, jostling a rack of tarnished spears. Desperately, the girl shoved the weapons between herself and the assassin. Nemesis caught the rack and hurled it easily across the room where it crashed and clattered. Mira sobbed and began to turn, but her feet caught on something and she fell, spine first into the edge of a table.

Winded, in pain, with a strange tingling coursing through her, Mira found that she couldn't edge around the table. The silent assassin continued to stride toward her, sword pulsing in the violent light. The girl clutched desperately behind her for a weapon, for anything to defend herself. Light and useless objects seemed to flop between her fingers and she cursed out loud. Nemesis raised her blade for a wide slice. Mira grasped something metallic and heavy enough, bringing it around in a quick and powerful swing. The silver pitcher clanged loudly against the assassin's face plate, causing Her to step back and let out a howl of rage.

Mira ran, this time without looking back. She hurdled over some debris and toppled a statue in front of the door as she bolted through it. Her sobs continued as she picked up pace, the stairway down now in sight. Behind her, there was a sound of air brought into submission, a snap that made her think of thunder whispering, then silence until something grabbed her vest. She screamed again, spinning herself out of the garment in the assassin's grip, stumbling free and continuing forward.

Mira's foot slipped on something slick. _You've got to be kidding me..._ She hit the ground hard, her wrist exploding into pain. The pinned guard's blood lay in a larger pool now, with a smear where Mira had skidded through it. She began to claw her way backward, away from the stairs now, but at least away from the assassin as well. Inevitably, she pressed her back into the wall and began to cry softly.

Nemesis tossed the girl's vest aside and walked slowly toward her. The Sword of the Gods was expressionless. "Now," She said in a rich, beautiful voice. "This is the end, little one." The shadowy blade was raised and Mira closed her eyes, thinking about Gabrielle, and her grandma, and Joshua and how she had never been to Egypt but had always really wanted to but now never could.

There was a rush of air. And then a loud ring, as in a collision of tempered steel. Then a familiar voice.

"Step away from her." It was Gabrielle.

Mira opened her eyes. Near the stairs stood the warrior, dressed for battle, holding her chakram. Just above the girl, now turned to face the new threat, Nemesis stood, blade pointed outward. Mira couldn't see the assassin's face. Gabrielle had a strange look in her eyes -- not angry, not determined. _What?_ Mira was sure she had never seen it before, perhaps certain aspects, but never in this hue or tone.

Then she noticed the assassin. The tall woman trembled, slightly at first, then in larger and larger waves until She placed a hand to Her head, stepped forward as if in the throes of agony and let loose a piercing scream -- not of pain, but of absolute sorrow and confusion. Gabrielle appeared devastated and moved as if to say something, but Nemesis tore by her, crashing through the frail wood covering the windows and into the coming night.

Gabrielle blinked at the rent in the darkness, at the dusk light pouring in as though peering at a friend's mortal wound. Her head bowed slightly. She whispered something, her empty hand quivering in the air.

"Wait..." she said and moved in a way which, were it words, would be stuttering -- a quick succession of starts and stops toward the window, the hole, Nemesis, never amounting to true movement.

Finally she turned and sprinted to Mira's side, lifting her into her strong arms, holding her tightly to her chest.

She whispered softly to the girl as they clutched each other, rocking gently.

"It's okay, it's okay..."

Dusk was almost complete before they had finished crying and got slowly and painfully to their feet.


	6. Perfect Circle

The grass is whispering.

The wind arcs through its sandy reeds, pushing--matting it down like a scolding mother with her child's mess of hair.

The wind is in Her ears, groaning and blustering in lunatic whispers. She lets Her eyes follow the weft of the grass. It points away, off in the opposite direction, back the way She came.

Borne on swelling thermals of air, seabirds pass overhead, wings stretched wide. Waves taunt Her from over the hill, lapping and splashing playfully, hidden, out of view. She remains motionless, the crimson lash of Her cloak the only movement.

Around Her feet, the tall strands wave in the warm winds pouring over the rise. Beyond is the sand, the sea, She knows, yet She has halted here.

Salt is apparent on the air, it haunts Her palate, nostrils, but there is more--something else now. Stalking the winds is the menace of atmosphere, tense humidity, poised and trembling like tendons taxed beyond all reserve. It is pulling Her, it is pulling everything toward it.

She can fight it no longer and strides up the tressed dune, taking its crest. Here the wind fights Her, possessing the crimson of Her cloak, levitating Her hair in spools about Her face, folding Her in half for a moment. Straightening Herself, She is soon eye-to-eye with it.

Stretched out low, just above the roiling supplication of the Tyrrhenum, is the storm. Gaping black across the entire western horizon it throbs and tumbles and roars toward the mainland, falling over itself like a thing delirious. Her skin tingles at its far-reaching touch.

Lightning arcs through the rippling darkness, followed by the snarl of thunder, steady and deliberate on the winds. The storm will hit the coast within an hour, maybe two. By night, most of Latium will be trampled beneath its inky heel.

She removes Her helm, shaking out Her hair into the wild and uncertain air. The wind spins it back in ebon bolts scattered and flung over Her shoulders. Shutting Her eyes, She draws the essence of the sea's gusts, the musk of tempest into Her lungs in a slow, building breath. The peal of thunder stretches in sheets, coppery folds flung up and out, reverberating and collapsing finally in brassy tumbles far into the unseen edges of heaven.

Lost now are the slough of Her footsteps in Her ears, lost is the madness of the world around Her to the blue, blue eyes in Her skull. The sky could shatter and shiver into black shards as numerous as the stars and tumble splashing to the sea and still She would stand, staring back into one moment, one memory.

That face. Older, but still the face from Her dreams, from Her memories. And the weapon--the weapon that is rightfully Hers to bear--in the woman's possession. And all of it here, now. Not in dreams, or blurred visions that belong to someone else.

And what of the feelings? Her feelings?

She shuts Her eyes, teeth grinding, thrusting toward the jaw, the bones beneath the skin of gums.

_The beach is dry, secluded, deserted save for the two of us. Our fire crackles, snapping lazily at fingers of driftwood. In the distance, pulled taut over the Aegean is the black sheet of the coming storm, still silent, toothless in the firmament._

_But beneath my fingers, lips, I feel a softer pulse, there just below your skin, or gazing into your eyes. I recognize this hunger, this fever; it is mine as well. I am its servant as you push against me or beckon with mouth open. I am its slave, chained by every small word, or tiniest utterance threaded along your breath falling upon me. Where it goes I am dragged on my knees, bent in two._

_I have not hands enough for what my mind, my soul wishes to visit upon your skin, your golden flesh, quaking, tracing mad designs in the sightless sands. Your fingers wrap in the strands of my hair, pulling gently, pulling me upon you, as you spill across my lips. And you are a flavor that I will always know as my home, the flavor of tears, of laughter, of carelessness embraced._

_Then I am above you, black as the slate of storm clouds, held aloft with tension, with impatience, with mischief. There is sand in your hair, dusted and dried across the perfection of your neck. I kiss it free, grinding it in my teeth as I pull away and look to your eyes. From over the sea, high in the forgotten sky, there is thunder, there are flashes of lightning, and you smile…_

A word, a name trembles from Her lips like a sob, a choke. It is swallowed by the violence of the air around Her, as is the vision before Her eyes, across the surface of Her body.

Spray settles upon Her skin now and She flutters Her eyes open, watching the steel-hued fury of the waves, breaking in caps of white and green, incited to frothing rage by the onslaught of the storm. A call to arms, She returns Her helm to Her head and continues along the eroded borders of the coast. The grass whips her bare legs as Her feet sink into the soft, sandy earth.

The abandoned villa, the temples slouch out of the gray sand and peek over the blowing stubble. She wanders toward the low collection of buildings, through the winds and the weight of the storm to the west. Soon she is ascending the dune to the flat stretch before Her master's domicile.

Inside, the halls are without torchlight, shade clasping to stone, obscuring it in curtains of gray. She senses a presence, but is unsure of its identity. Moving silently she passes through the length of passage leading to the large chamber opening onto the cliffs over the sea. At the balcony is a coral clothed form She mistakes for another vision, until the woman turns to face Her. It is the Goddess of Love.

Against the apocalypse of sky above the sea, her form achieves a sad beauty or a soft bravery. She turns, a smile light across her lips. "You look like Tartarus," the Goddess says. "What happened?"

She turns away from the question. "I am here to speak with my Master."

"No time for girl talk, huh?" Laughing, the Goddess crosses her arms. "We should really have a chat…"

The assassin tilts Her head, blinking with confusion at the coral robed deity. "How can I be of service to you, Goddess?"

Aphrodite's face grows dark, shadowed with a jagged, multi-faceted sadness. "I think you've done enough already," she says, with a black chuckle. "You killed my family."

"I…" Her jaw drops. The accusation settles, finding no ground, no truth in Her memories. "That is impossible."

"That's what they thought," Aphrodite smiles sadly. "But, yeah, you pulled it off."

The assassin stands tall, now. "I can't believe this. I won't." It was preposterous -- the fanciful inventions of a distracted, feeble-minded troublemaker. If this was to be believed, it would mean She had slain Her master's kin as well.

"Don't worry about it, hon." The goddess waves her hand in dismissal. "I forgive you. It's what I do, y'know."

She shakes her head. Aphrodite laughs. "Aw c'mon, it's all water under the bridge. That's the beauty of forgiveness," she smiles, leaning back against the marble balcony. "It's the closest thing you mortals come to getting a brand new life."

Thunder spills across the heavens. Her hands tremble, collapsing upon themselves. She looks at them as though they are no longer Her own.

"But you were never big on forgiveness, were you?" The goddess crosses her arms. "At least when it came to yourself."

Her head bows, shakes. The goddess approaches, easily crossing the span of tile between them. She places her hands upon the assassin's naked biceps and leans in to whisper. It falls without breath upon Her ears.

Then the goddess is walking away, returning to her view of the storm. "My brother is coming," she says over her shoulder. "We'll talk, Sweetie! Ta-ta!" Aphrodite disappears in a shower of light.

She stares at Her hand hanging outstretched before Her, as though beckoning. The enigma of the gesture makes Her briefly nauseas. Then the savor of blood floods Her palate, and She turns to face Her master. Ares appears at the balcony, his back to Her, staring up into the yawning expanse of storm. He gestures.

"I think I've really outdone myself on this one." He turns, a cruel smile on his lips. "Wouldn't you say?"

Swallowing heavily, She bows. The God of War crosses his arms. "So, crazy lady, what can I do for you?"

She kneels. "I am here to offer my sword to you, Master."

"Oh yeah?" He appears amused by this. "And why should I accept it?"

She falters here, Her head raising in confusion. He nods. "Yeah. Why should I?" His footfalls echo flatly in the open space. "Why shouldn't I just blast you into dust, right now?"

She can only stare up at him, even though his reaction had been anticipated. "I accept my…failures…"

"Oh, you do, do you?" His laugh swells with incredulity. "And why should I accept them? Huh?" He begins to count off on his fingers. "I mean, you botched the whole mission with that glorified sidekick. Then--this was a good one--then you go and attack me, I mean, what were you thinking there? You were very, very lucky I spared your miserable little life, I gotta tell you. And then…let's see…then you kill all of the men that are actually doing something right for me and allow all of my prisoners to escape." He shook his head. "I gotta hand it to you, you are nothing if not thorough."

She bows Her head. Could She explain the turmoil? Her loss of control? The visions? The emotions? And how could She tell him of the warrior's face -- the face from Her past?

The God of War glares at Her. "So…you go on and tell me why I shouldn't blast you and just dig up somebody else to take your place? I did it with you I can do it with anybody…" He nods with condescension at Her confused look. "That's right…you're recycled goods kid, get used to it." He leans back on the balcony. "I'm waiting…"

The quivering that begins in the joints of Her wrists, that pull long fingers together, collapsing them into fists, passes up Her arms, settling in hunched shoulders. With a deep breath, She masters it, sublimates it-wills it into something that can be used, fuel to be burned, devoured, redirected.

She raises Her head. "Because without me, you will fail," She says.

For a moment, it is as though he has not heard the words, that they are so far from what he expects they pass useless from Her lips, invisible on the air. Then rage, brief, fleeting, flickering, but enough that even diluted the God's anger would cause all but the most steadfast or wicked to tremble. Finally laughter erupts from him, slow at first but quick to build, rich, deep laughter. "You are awesome, you know that?" He keeps chuckling. "Hoo hoo…okay, okay…you've got your shot-but it's your last one."

"What is your bidding, my Master?" She asks, suppressing the pride that threatens to erupt from Her.

"Don't be so smug, 'cause it isn't going to be easy." His eyes smolder. "I want you to be ready to leave by mid-morning. You're going to take care of my biggest obstacle."

She bows, honored by the charge. "Who is my prey, Master?"

He smirks. "Only the most difficult target in all of Rome…" Crossing his arms, Ares prepares to leave. "Be ready," he says as he disappears.

Slowly rising, She stands, Her cape catching gusts of wind that pour over the balcony from the sea. A laugh swells in the cage of Her chest, breaking free into the air. Her redemption is well at hand, and soon Her master would reinstate his full trust in Her dark abilities.

Thunder-distant, foreboding peels of thunder break off and fall through the cavernous sky above the Tyrrhenum.

Her laughter is quickly swallowed by the groaning storm. Tears fill Her eyes and She coughs at them, hoping it might ebb their flow, that it might choke down the memories that are upon Her now. Her head throbs with them and She throws Her helmet from Her head so it crashes against a wall.

There is no escape.

Her fingers clutch for the balcony's rail to remain upright. Her teeth are barred, as She pants rabidly.

And through it all-the conflation of senses both past and present, the pain of emotions spanning separate lifetimes, through the mystery of her beautiful and painful face-the words of the Goddess of Love, Aphrodite's whispered question rings in Her ears.

_Who are you?_

***

_The morning allows breezes--cool breezes--to slip through its tightening fist. From the west, this wind rustles the palms surrounding the balcony, making them bow and titter and gossip--as though they feel unease about this stranger traipsing through the city streets._

_I watch the birds slip into the rhythm of the rocking branches, eyes lulled closed as their feathers plump with the null of a nap. Here, on the balcony at the mansion, all is quiet. The girl sleeps beside me, wrapped in a blanket, curled on a couch. A deep dreamless sleep, if she is lucky. Her face is smooth, motionless--it betrays nothing save for the furrowed folding between the brows._

_We returned to the mansion in the middle of the night. Navigating the streets, the checkpoints and patrols, had been an arduous ordeal that we managed in total silence and undead movement. The girl had been docile and almost unconscious of our task, easily led. After hours of careful stealth, tense hiding and fevered chases, we lighted upon the Quirinal and soon the cool marble shelter of Gallus' mansion._

_Eve had helped keep the questions and prying eyes of everyone at bay. Mira was almost feverish with shock and exhaustion and I craved space, isolation, silence. The girl had moved to the balcony and was soon asleep._

_Another sunrise-shavings of gold blown from the lips of horizon, spiraling, falling like birds through the encrimsoned ether, swollen now with light, milk white and heavy that drops upon the rising fog of the city. When was it that I began to wake before the sun? And how many sunrises has it been?_

_I remember the morning I realized I had now watched the sun take the sky more times than you ever would. I remember the sunrise--flat, the color of tarnished brass, like a coin pressed into the gray sheet of cloud. Thin, frail bands of white stretched without ceremony across the flat and wide horizon. It was a cold, Britannia sunrise, damp fire popping on a bed of pine needles, and the girl asleep, with many hours before she would wake. I remember the chill, sunk to the marrow and deeper, the pain in my limbs._

_How old I felt then. Older than you, watching the sun climb into the heavens above the last place on Earth I ever wanted to be. I remember trying to think of home and not knowing where that was really._

_Nothing fit. Nothing that existed anymore, anyway. Can you imagine feeling like you've outlived history?_

_What was left?_

_Greece had fallen into disarray, much of it annexed by Rome. Lila, Sarah and her family moved to Phoenicia, out of reach. The family farm was now kindling, the land given to Perdicus' brother, Ghreus._

_The flame of the Amazons, dwindling for years, sputtered out--prey to bounty hunters and warlords and slave traders. I watched a Roman governor drag Varia's body through the streets of Thebes. He shouted in drunken barks about his 'victory' over the 'last Amazon.' Perhaps he was right--I never sought revenge, the prudent Queen to the last._

_Eve and Virgil didn't need me. I had made myself unavailable for many years. When I returned to their lives I found that I was welcomed but unnecessary, like a freed slave returned from travels._

_Virgil's face when I approached him after a reading of his work in Athens was an odd mix of surprise, concern and relief. Though beneath it all was the feeling that my return was a disturbance of some kind, an unwelcome upset to a life he had grown happily accustomed to._

_Still, he spirited me away to the corner of the room and over bowls of wine we talked. And through it all, that same look of upset, of unease that I imagine all walking relics illicit in those who have moved on._

_\--Where have you been?_

_\--Egypt, mainly._

_\--Eve looked for you in Egypt…_

_\--It's a big place._

_\--Gabrielle…It's been four years…we thought you were…_

_I suppose the smile I peeled mirthlessly from my teeth was unconvincing. He blinked with concern, his hand grabbing mine._

_What to say, really? How could I put into words all that which I deigned to speak? That Virgil wished not to hear? That the sands of the desert, the winds named like favored children, could not scrape all the layers upon me clean. That becoming everything I despised and loathed about the world, that letting it pick me up and carry me along as a baby could not dull or reduce me. That I could not break or bend or mortally wound or heap scar upon scar over my useless soul and so never lose that part of it of which you are everything._

_How could I tell him that I failed you, once again? That I could not let myself die? Not even for you._

_What to say? Years passed as though outside the body--as though floating uselessly above. Years passed as though reading a scroll. As a spy, a separate entity--those years in the sand, in a haze, the roar of the arena, the sour nausea of wine-drenched mornings and the cold mechanics of my body and the kill and no way out. And then…_

_And then…_

_Sand and sky, two meditations on emptiness, face-to-face--and I passing between, gliding upon the sliver of dust that fades into horizon and daylight, in soughing steps to the southwest._

_The caravan had given me enough water for the final leg of the journey, no more. From the Dakhia oasis it was four skins to the center of the wastes, following in the fading tracks of the sun. These were the terms in which Nomads understood travel, distance measured in necessity. I held my own methods for equating such things._

_I travel slow and steadily, only at night. In the flame of day, sleep is fitful under a silk and linen blind, sharing shade with scorpions and beetles against the shrugging shoulder of dunes. Dreams fall upon me, tattered and dissolving like autumn leaves, only pieces remembered. I wake with sand grinding against my teeth._

_The walking is done at night, in absolute darkness. My footsteps sink into sand with a whisper, one after another, again, again--the Secret the desert tells. Perhaps I sleep while walking, breaths ebbing and flowing in time with my movement, one after another, again, again. Just as slumber settles, I feel it and start awake and there is again, only the sound of my feet sinking into sand._

_How fitting it is, the reversal of the body's rhythms, night for day, dusk for dawn. There is a gradual acceptance of this dark synchronization. It is rehearsal, tuition for what is to come._

_Men came out of the dust changed, even when falling short of paradise, if they returned at all. It was a Nomad belief that one could stray upon heaven if one had water enough, continuing upon this course into the whitest of sands, the deepest desert, into memory. To me, it is as though the way is lined with ghosts, sighs churning on the wind, faces like drops of ink evaporating from the sides of my vision. Perhaps this is a path into the land of the dead, a gradual descent, a slow fade. Hope is a tiny thing, lost in the hollows of me, like a pebble rattling in the gut of a copper pot._

_I sleep naked, waking from the quagmire of dreams, with nothing save my own flesh, rust-hued in the shade of the tent, as an anchor to the waking world. My eyes open, appear lost as they track along the sway and slouch of an abdomen that could be my own, the pale legs, feet, and onto the sandy floor where it meets the silk flap, hiding the world beyond. I can feel the pull of the journey, the inescapable pulse of it sink into me once more._

_The sand is white here. It grows fairer beneath every footstep, as though being cleansed, spurning impurity. If there were moonlight, I would see as if by day. There is no moonlight._

_Eventually, my eyes have swallowed enough starlight to see with some clarity. Tracks of spiders that slide like spinning wheels down the nape of dunes lay scrawled to my side like script, black gouges gulping light. What would be the poetry here? Psalms to the winds, named like sons and daughters? Odes to rolling emptiness and grit, the lament of the sand for the heat that slips through its shifting grasp at the passing of darkness?_

_I eat less and less. There is no reason to even stop walking. Here a slice of dried meat, there a date or two, the seeds spat uselessly onto the barren dust._

_My mouth presses to the skin, and I remember how it is to kiss, innocently, or hungrily, greedily, or shamefully, upon lips and lips and tongues. The water sloshes into the groaning cistern in my abdomen, swelling there and I remember._

_Occasionally, I feel an odd compulsion to pour out the water, to watch it clot and fade into the thirsty, greedy sands._

_Waiting for sleep in the tinted shade of the blind, through the flaps of linen, I can see three birds soaring silently, in slow circles. The simplicity of this brings tears to my eyes._

_Still the dreams--the arena, its walls, the stands stretching ever upward, a cylinder that towers into the hollows of the heavens, blocking out everything else. The seats filled with people, yelling, screaming, crying. If I stop killing, the arena will collapse, falling into dust around me. Why don't I stop?_

_Water is running low. There is a nagging welt where the leather straps have chaffed me; it is red upon the freckled knife of shoulder, swollen and round like the setting sun. The pain is a whisper in the night. So alive it even throbs with the quiver of my forgotten pulse. I rub at my eyes not caring about the smudge of kohl._

_One night, I reach for a drink and find that the skins are gone. There is a liberty to the lack of occasion, a welcome anti-climax that is fitting given the circumstances. I crest a wide dune, pale and barren as bone, and stop._

_I can feel the entire weight of the desert, stretched wide around me. Its vast emptiness shifts with discomfort, groans in the night. Maybe I am afraid. I laugh, because it is a flavor of fear I have not savored in many years. Not since sleeping next to Lila deep in the uncertainty of night, the haunted wind creaking through that tiny sleeping village. Eventually it leaves._

_Dawn begins here unlike anywhere I have ever been. I lean back on the great dune to watch, to wait, finally. A thin ribbon of pink trembles into view at the horizon, throbbing into violet, and scarlet, and incarnadine, raising the brightening sky over the stars who are now lost in the shifting wash of dawn like tadpoles in a river. I lay back against the soft dune and feel the air bubble with heat over me, watching the three birds circle against the spinning ripples of morning…_

_And then…_

_What?_

_What would I tell him? Poor, Virgil. Poor, poor, Virgil: the idealist, the poet-always grasping for the sense, for the understanding, for the endings of everything._

_We sat and spoke of the past. And of the future. It was something he still believed in._

_Then, from across the table, he looked concerned through a gossamer of curiosity._

_\--And what did you find in the desert?_

_What could I tell him?_

_That I lay there waiting for yet another death, singing a hymn mother had taught Lila and me?_

_That then impossibly, from out of the sands, through thirst, through delirium, you came to me? That, lying on my dune waiting for death, for miles I watched you approach. That I let tears spill knowing you had come to finally take me with you?_

_And then…_

_That you asked me to stay…to carry on…to return…_

_It wasn't you, was it? How could it have been? I had watched you fade into the humming dark of the grave, my back tired, sore against your brother's old sarcophagus._

_Somehow I knew it wasn't you but cared little, if at all. It looked so much like you, felt like you. For so long, I had been afraid that I had lost even the smallest remembrance of you, that the you who met me in my dreams was something I had created, and as such, had rendered flawed._

_Do you remember my visions? The voices I sometimes heard?_

_You never believed in them, did you? Or at least, not the way I did._

_Was it because you secretly blamed yourself for their cause? Thessaly--you said I was without air for too long, that it hurt me in some invisible sort of way, caused me to see things that weren't there--like spots before the eyes after squinting into the sun for too long._

_But you forget: I stood in Elysium, strolled in its grasses, tasted its air, touched it. Is it not possible that some of it touched me as well? That it left its mark? That I could in some way see the dead? How many tales speak of those who journey to the realms of the dead and return with special gifts?_

_Did you ever think that it may have been more than our bond that allowed you to appear to me for those years after Jappa?_

_Until…_

_And then, there in the desert, on my deathbed of dust you appeared again--whether or not you were real or conjured by my fevered mind you told me to return, to carry on. What part of me wanted to survive? Where had she been hiding? Why had she surfaced now? What did it matter?_

_I staggered back, northwest through the sand. No water, no food. Soon I was delirious. I don't remember falling into the dust, but I remember the dream…_

_The grove, when you moved above me like a night soft with dreams, whispering, your voice in my ears, the wind, or gentle rain through a window settling like soft mist over my skin…_

_I awoke in a covered cart, creaking over the sand, beside slabs of dehydrated meat. My laughter broke from me in shreds of coughs, my tears as dry as the cargo I lay upon. Then it was the simple transit of day poured into day, the cities, the sea, set heavy upon my eyes like a veil--Kharga, Alexandria, Knossos, the Peloponnese._

_And through it all, I knew it hadn't been you. And through it all, I knew the depth of my failure…_

_I smell rain on the wind. It will arrive by nightfall--a storm--and the Romans will have relief. Cries rise from the Forum, the markets opening one by one, the customers arriving through the dust for their goods after a quick breakfast._

_Another morning in this place--I should be sick but I feel light. My heart flutters in my chest and I feel color in my cheeks. I peer out across the Roman morning, toward the thrust of the Capitoline. The memory, hours old, swells my breast, scalds my eyes._

_It was you, oh, it was you--the crimson of your cloak disappearing through the hole into dusk, like a wound flowing backward, resealing…_

_On the couch, Mira stirs but stays asleep. She has called out a few times, but never breaks the surface into consciousness. I push a strand of hair from her face._

_Beyond the balcony the city could be empty, mine alone, my dominion, once again a Queen. I stretch, it relieves exhaustion but the weight of the next hours, my responsibilities, still bends me. I should be sick but I feel light._

_Another morning, another sunrise--I walk back toward the door. The servants are stirring, the house is waking. Preparations must be made. I let the girl sleep through the dawn._

***

Contained in all things are their origins and their terminus--their beginning and their ending.

Whether we experience it or not, all things are born and end within us as well. Plants, birds, our families and friends, millions of others we will never meet or know, every death or birth exists as part of us, as ours exists within them. It is arrogant to assume that they do not have their own affect upon us, every one. It is dangerous too. The Universe, Nature, life and, as a consequence, society and civilization are about interconnection. Existence is intimate. Misunderstanding and war should be impossible. What is it that keeps us apart? We all share that common bond, hidden in each fiber of our souls.

In each of us is the beginning and the ending.

Alpha and Omega…

…beginnings and endings and beginnings and endings and…

Beginnings…

Beginnings are always frayed, fuzzy in the memory, undefined.

At what point does one begin to love another, for example--or to hate?

At what point do we pass from waking into dream?

Into dreams--do we actually pass 'into' dreams, like into some shadowy land? Or do dreams pass through us? Do they fall like ghosts upon us, smothering the mind in smoky gauze until morning peels them free? Passing like strangers through our lives, some changing us forever, some immediately forgotten.

Eve cannot remember the slide into sleep--that sweet loss of self, as momentary as it is; that blissful eradication of the 'I,' that internal muting that is but a brief overture to dream. It can only be savored as an afterthought, a blank recollection, but it impacts upon her, and she is buoyed on by its influence.

With ease, Eve dreams…

…The hill is a soft rolling one, gently curved and lush. As she ascends it, Eve can see only green grass and then sky, nothing of what lies beyond. There is a comfort in it. Looking back she sees the sheep in the valley, pebble white and tiny among the jade--their bleating warbles in her ears like the voices of gnats. She smiles, letting the soft shiver of happiness sink through her and ease her steps.

There is a large, white blanket set out against the hill. Two figures sit upon it. They occasionally rise and shift positions then sit once again. Eve approaches slowly, an easy warmth still swelling in her bones.

One of the women on the blanket is her mother. She sits looking as strong and as beautiful as she always was and always is in Eve's dreams. In her hands she holds a strange puzzle that she has been intently assembling from pieces scattered about the blanket in front of her. Her mother wears a face that is focused and intense in its task--one that Eve remembers fondly and well.

The other woman is of interest. She is blonde, but not Gabrielle. She watches Eve's mother with a vague curiosity, biting her lip when the puzzle poses a challenge and smiling when the challenge is overcome. Her eyes are dark and smolder with a troubled intensity that isn't frightening so much as it is sad. There is a sense that this woman has been learning to be happy, but hasn't gotten it right just yet.

Her mother has only one piece of the puzzle to go, but it lies at the far edge of the blanket, out of her reach. She looks at the blonde woman.

\--I don't suppose you'll help this time?

The woman shakes her head, grinning with the mischief of a little girl.

\--Uh-uh.

Her mother smiles in resignation.

\--Didn't think so…

She places the almost-complete puzzle down and stands, moving toward the final piece. Grabbing the puzzle, the other woman begins to disassemble it, scattering the pieces upon the blanket, a passive look on her face. Her mother turns just in time to see the woman scatter the pieces of the puzzle. Her shoulders slump and she leaves the final segment where it lays. She crosses her arms.

\--Why'd you go and do that again?

The blonde woman raises her nose haughtily.

\--I have my reasons.

\--That's not an answer.

\--It isn't, is it?

They smile at each other, and Eve's mother returns to her former place, her former task, assembling the puzzle one piece at a time while the other woman sits entranced by the task.

Eve watches as the two women repeat the same sequence of events again and again-only their banter changes. It is somewhat frustrating for Eve to watch, as she is saddened that her mother must continually restart her task, only to have it ruined before its completion. However, the acolyte feels that she should not act, and the two women's easiness with each other seems to enforce this course of inaction.

Suddenly, Eve realizes who the blonde woman is. From her readings of Gabrielle's scrolls she recognizes the woman as Callisto, her mother's old nemesis. She does not know why but she begins to move to help her mother. Surely Callisto has some sort of foul intention in all of this.

Someone grabs Eve's arm, stops her. It is Eli. She never met him, but she knows it is. He smiles.

\--Can you be sure?

She is not…

…Eve lies in bed. The sheets are brought up to her chin. It is cold outside, the wind howls beyond the windows, but she is warm. There is a fire painting the room in soft orange light and slow heat. She smiles. Gabrielle--a younger Gabrielle-sits at the bedside, smiling down at her. Eve stretches her toes hoping they won't pop out from beneath the covers. The bard pushes a strand of hair behind Eve's ear. Eve smirks.

\--Tell me a story…

Gabrielle laughs in that way she used to. Shrugging, she begins.

\--The land of India is a strange and wondrous place…

Eve knows this, she has been there, but hearing Gabrielle tell the story is important to her, and so she listens…

\--Perhaps the strangest I have ever traveled to…well…on this world, anyway…

The bard smiles and Eve returns the grin. She snuggles further into her pillow as Gabrielle continues.

\--All manner of performers and performances can be found there. The streets, the countryside is alive with jugglers, acrobats, storytellers, musicians, clowns...you practically trip over them or get swept up into their performances--which can make for a lot of trouble when you're traveling with a crabby ole warrior princess…

She winks. Eve giggles then yawns. She has to stay awake. Gabrielle's voice bends and waves like smoke on the air.

\--Of all the legions of performers throughout all the kingdoms of India, none are more revered than the puppet masters known simply as Dalang. The Dalang are lonely performers who travel from village to village, carrying their entire life on their back. They make their puppets, the stage; write the music, fashion and play the instruments and perform the great fables that have been passed down from Dalang to Dalang throughout the ages.

Gabrielle pauses, becomes stern, a great storyteller herself.

\--Their performances span hours, effortlessly weaving several small stories into the fabric of a sweeping, grand tapestry. The puppets are simple but, within the grasp of a master, are able to convey all manner of emotion and action and soon you find yourself lost within their tale. While the characters and small stories are never the same, the main story is.

Firelight plays gently, hypnotically upon the ceiling, holding Eve in its drowsy spell--does she see the shadows of puppets there? The bard throws another log on the fire before she continues.

\--A great war rages, and has been raging since the beginning of the world--a war between Light and Darkness. Every being has their part to play; everyone is a soldier, a warrior. While there are those who play grander roles, those who are unaware of the struggle, in their ignorance, influence its outcome as well. From the most powerful gods and kings to the lowliest beggar, every being plays a part.

Often the battles are catastrophic where thousands suffer and die, in the heavens and on the earth. Other times conflict is lost or won without the slightest hint of carnage or sorrow.

And still the war continues, each side keeping the other in check, year after year, throughout millennia. What is its purpose? Why is it fought? What are its spoils?

The audience is soon lost in the tale, pulled along, hanging on every nuance. And the puppets, they become more and more lifelike captivating the audience deeper in their spell. Soon, there is no longer a crudely fashioned stage, props, music there is only the struggle for mankind, the universe. There are no longer puppets there is only the battles, the characters, Light and Darkness. There is Good and there is Evil and the Great War between them that holds the universe hanging in the balance.

Eve is falling asleep…she cannot force her eyes open…she struggles to clutch on to Gabrielle's voice in the wavering throes of consciousness…she has to…

\--But in the end, there is no war, no struggle, there are no sides--there is only the Dalang…

…Eve walks along the Via Appia toward Rome. It is early summer and the countryside is still verdant and untouched by the sun's full wrath. Despite the relative ease of the day, Eve cannot free herself from the tension in her belly. Birds chatter loudly in dissonant tongues, lost in the slivers of Cypress trees scattered over the hills.

Soon the road leads up a large hill. The loose pebbles nag at the soles of her sandaled feet. Her legs tire against the steady incline and sweat begins to slide in droplets along her skin. Sometimes she wants to stop and rest, but she presses on, feeling the summit just ahead.

Then she has crested the rise, the road pouring over it like a rushing river. Her eyes follow its course toward the city, visible now, nestled in the bosom of its seven hills.

She stops cold.

Lining both sides of the road, beginning at the bottom of the descent, are hundreds of crucifixions. The tall crosses stretch out across the miles toward the distant city. Eve begins to move down toward them. She can hear the weak cries of the dying. Crows and other scavengers fight at the crosspieces for bits of carrion. And there is the smell, hanging like soot in the air.

The faces, she recognizes them all--the followers, the faithful of Eli. Faces of her friends, family, her wards--her failure. She passes sadly, each step erasing some of her, until she feels as ragged and useless as a phantom.

More faces: Mira--frightened and lifeless eyes, dry, unmoving, her young body slumped sickeningly against the nails through her wrists; Virgil--bloody mouthed, his tongue cut out, his body picked at by birds. Joshua--his face, eyes shaded, sad, noble in the dying light. Tears well up in Eve's eyes, sadness closes her throat.

She stops.

Gabrielle--poor Gabrielle--looking strangely at peace now, though pain has contorted her face, her body. A scream escapes the acolyte's throat and she turns, her vision tracing along the road, passing the lines of crosses, toward Rome.

On the road, heading toward her is a figure, obscured by distance. Eve begins to run toward her. Surely she must be the one responsible. The figure breaks into a run as well, heading directly for Eve.

As they near each other, Eve recognizes the woman who chased her through the markets of Rome, her face hidden again behind the blue cowl. She knows that this is the one responsible for the death of her friends, family. The familiar taste of wrath, though long absent from her, swells within Eve.

Finally they are within striking distance of one another, but both come to a halt. Even crows mute their cackles as the two women lock eyes between the groaning crosses.

The woman begins to remove the cowl from her head. Eve hopes that she won't, but her own curiosity prevents her from stopping the action. The blue fabric falls from the woman's opened fingers and blows off toward the city.

Eve's mouth hangs open. It is her own face she is staring into--but it is the eyes of Livia that stare back, her mouth twisted into a black smirk.

"Surprise," she says…

...The passage leads down into the earth and darkness. When Eve turns to see where it is she has come from, she can only make out a shaded street, buildings close, suffocating--she could be anywhere. Eli grabs her wrist, makes her continue along the descending tunnel carved into the ground.

Crude torches, forced into imperfections in the wall, light their way. She follows. They walk along, passing chambers in the rock, doorways half covered with silk. A small, simple engraving of a fish carved into a support beam catches the torchlight. Shadows, silhouettes seen through cloth, voices of men, of women, of children. Some watch from their doorways--a young man, a young woman, an odd necklace around her neck, vaguely familiar--looking to Eli, to Eve, their eyes wide. The smell of cooking food, of mold, of sewage, of battered hope is incense on the air around them, and still they walk.

Soon they arrive at a chamber, plain, sparsely furnished. Eli sits, flopping wearily to the ground. He motions for her to join him. Crossing her legs, Eve sits across from the prophet.

Eli smiles at her, "Now, it is I who walks in your dreams."

She blinks. "I don't understand," she says.

"You will," he says. With a wink, he pats the floor between them. "This is where I buried my dreams..."

…It is twilight in the woods near Comum, the woods surrounding the summer home of Augustus, the woods of her childhood--her woods. Eve skips between the lanky watch of trees, half-rendered in the blue of dusk. She can hear the lake lapping at the shoreline. Fireflies pulse distractedly above her, their light painting the leaves in a honey-hued glow.

Leaves crackle under her feet and sometimes maybe she understands their soft little language and it makes her laugh. She darts off toward her secret flower patch, giggling away.

She stops. There are voices. She steps carefully toward them, hiding behind a tree.

Xena and Gabrielle sit at a robust campfire. They are younger than Eve ever remembers seeing them. The warrior sharpens her blade. The bard concentrates intensely on a piece of parchment. She looks up at the quiet warrior, her long hair bobbing and catching the firelight.

\--Would you say that a Griffon roars or shrieks?

Xena looks up, distracted.

\--Huh?

The bard is not fazed.

\--I'm writing about that Griffon we chased off the other day. Would you say that the noise it made when it ambushed us was a roar or a shriek?

With a shrug, Xena goes back to sharpening as she answers.

\--Roar, I guess.

She smirks.

\--I think you were the one doing all the shrieking.

The bard giggles with a blush, throwing her scroll case at the warrior who bats it away with her forearm. They smile warmly at each other…

Eve skips off again, ducking below the slouching branches. For a moment, the dusk darkens around her as she passes beneath the thick lace of canopy. Soon, there are more voices, more campfires. She hides…

Xena sits at a campfire, sharpening her sword. Occasionally, she turns slightly and sighs in frustration. A twig snaps in the woods behind her. The warrior stands, sheathing her sword.

\--Come out.

There is no movement. The warrior crosses her arms.

\--I said: come out. I'm looking right at you, for Hera's sake.

Gabrielle, just a girl, steps sheepishly from the woods. She recovers her composure and stands tall.

\--I've been following you for days, sleeping on the ground and…uh…other places…and I won't stop, so you might as well get used to it.

Xena swallows hard.

\--Look, Gabrielle, there is no way in Tartarus that I can be responsible for myself and some little farm girl. I don't have the time. I don't have the patience and most of all, I don't…I don't want you around. So…so just go home.

The two of them slump their shoulders. The warrior softens somewhat.

\--Go home, Gabrielle…

Heartbroken, Gabrielle turns to leave…

Eve crawls upon the forest floor. There are bugs, beetles, slithering things under the blanket of fallen leaves and mud, beneath her fingers. She pretends she is one of them. Light flickers ahead, she moves toward it…

Xena and Lila sit at a robust campfire. They are younger than Eve ever remembers seeing them. The warrior sharpens her blade. Lila concentrates intensely on a sketch. She looks up at the quiet warrior.

\--Would you say that a Griffon's beak is pointed or serrated?

Xena looks up, distracted.

\--Huh?

Lila droops her head, sadly.

\--Never mind…

Xena resumes sharpening her blade…

A wind blows through the disappearing trees, rattling branches. Eve drags her feet, pouting as she wanders into the growing dark. Flames paint shadows against rustling leaves...

In the firelight, Gabrielle kneels beside the body of a dead child. She is sobbing as she looks at the mass of red-gold hair--so very like her own--with regret and revulsion.

A wolf howls in the night, another answers mournfully.

She looks across the small clearing to the second body, scorched and broken, the whorls of the armor crusted and black even in the firelight, the familiar face all but unrecognizable.

\--I'm sorry...I'm so sorry I didn't listen...

She sadly caresses the unmoving girl's cheek. She opens her hand and gazes at the black phial resting in her palm.

\--Solan. You. Hope...

She uncorks it and brings it quickly to her lips...

\--A perfect circle...

Thunder breaks above the forest, shaking it gently beneath Eve's feet. She jogs through the trees, branches whipping against her legs and arms. Her breathing is loud in her ears. She runs for a clearing, toward the light…

Eve is five years old. She sits with her mother by the fire. Her mother looks sad and very tired--older than her years. She is constantly checking over her shoulder and starts at even the slightest sound in the darkness.

Eve places her head upon her mother's shoulder.

\--Tell me a story…

Her mother sighs, wiping at her eyes, whose blue appears washed out, pallid in the glow of the meager fire.

\--Okay, sweetie, just close…close your eyes…

Eve listens to her mother, finding a comfortable spot against the armor. Xena's voice is sad, but not entirely without hope.

\--The land of India is a strange and wondrous place. Perhaps the strangest I have ever traveled to…

…Eve walks along a road. It is a Roman road somewhere--where?--Gaul, Germania, Britannia? It doesn't matter. It is late fall and the trees stretch naked off to the sides. The air is crisp but free of the whispers of winter's approach. Occasionally leaves blow across her feet, thrown about in the angry wind of dusk.

Following the road, slouched against its side, is a long ditch. Its crease is filled with dry and damp leaves and twigs. Occasionally a mouse or larger animal will dart from beneath and into the shelter of the bare woods. Eve continues, her sandals scraping the loose earth of the road. She smells rain, feels a storm press against the land. The wind is heavier now.

Ahead, in the ditch, there is someone lying down. Are they dead? She jogs over and halts at the crest of the trench, looking down into it. Joshua sleeps his hand on his stomach, his breathing slow and deep. There is a smudge of dirt on his cheek, flakes of twigs on his forehead, leaves on his clothes and Eve must resist an urge to descend into the channel and brush them aside. She smiles.

Thunder claps across the steel of heaven and the wind bends Eve in two. Grit hurts her eyes and leaves assault from all sides. She needs to get Joshua up, they need to go now.

In the ditch, standing over the boy, is Eli. He watches him sleep, an odd look upon his face-close to pity, fraternity, love…

Eve takes a step forward.

\--Wake him up.

Eli looks up and smiles.

\--It's your job.

Eve looks to the boy.

\--Joshua, wake up. Wake up.

The boy remains happily asleep. The wind howls, hurling leaves and twigs at them. Lightning forks above their heads. Eve starts to cry.

\--I can't…

Eli smiles.

\--Try harder…

…endings and beginnings and endings and beginnings and…

Endings…

An ending is more defined than an origin, although it too fades, becoming a new beginning, vague and lost in the ponderous caverns of memory. Night is the Day's death as Day is the Night's as waking is dream's and as dream is the death of waking life. These dualities, all dualities, flow in this way, fusing as river into sea and back--a perfect circle.

In the end (or the beginning) we have love or hate, good or evil, peace or war, Light or Darkness, Alpha, Omega. We have the lines we draw in the sand and the sides we stand on. We have the rivers, we have the seas. And we have this endless stream of choices.

Yet who among us chooses the circle?

Eve opens her eyes, the light of the Roman day filtering through the shutters. She rises; the air, helped by the marble of the room, cools her naked body. Stepping slowly, softly she makes her way to the window, opening the doors.

With a sleepy grin, she greets the birth of the day, the end of the night.

***

"Well, for once in my life I'm going to advocate patience as a course of action," Nero said with a smirk.

He turned to watch his decision settle upon the faces of Terrence and Octavia. Their strategic meeting, held in the bizarre splendor of the Hall of Mirrors, had been lacking focus and the Emperor felt that he had to inject some form of leadership and direction into the proceedings.

Octavia crossed her arms. "Caesar, we have most of your enemies within our grasp, why shouldn't we crush them while we still can?"

"Indeed, Caesar, considering their tendency to scatter," Terrence concurred. "It would make sense to hit the Senator's compound now, rather than to wait."

Nero smiled, stretching languidly, his pale form multiplied a hundredfold along the odd reflections of the hall. "Now, I understand your impatience, and I completely sympathize. But let me ask you this: would you rather eat a meal of many sparrows, or one of a healthy boar?"

The general and the bodyguard both stared guardedly at the emperor. He adjusted his laurel, using a far off mirror as a guide. "True, we have most of my enemies within our grasp, but not all of them." Terrence was about to speak, but Nero silenced him with a wave of his hand. "As they gather, they grow bold, they draw alliances and they become one target." His eyes clouded over. "The little party at the Senator's manse, Seneca's homecoming, that is but the beginning. Soon, all the little birds in the Senate will come gathering and grow bold. And then…" The Emperor left the thought for the others to finish.

The two advisors nodded. Smiling, the emperor walked along the mirrored hall toward a tall doorway that opened up onto a sprawling balcony. Two braziers blazed, heat hazily rising into the morning air. "Now," he said. "What of the excavations into the mountain?"

"I've a report out of Alba Fucens from yesterday, Caesar. Janus Maximus has been unable to make progress on the entrance chamber."

"And the day had seemed so promising." Nero pouted. "What's Janus' problem, hmm?"

The general gave a quick glance to Octavia then returned to the Emperor. "His men lack focus, Caesar. While the discovery of the entrance was indeed propitious, there has been a definite lack of results," Terrence said, with diplomatic aplomb. "And we all know how working men thrive on results."

Octavia clenched her jaw. "What are you holding back? What are the men saying?"

The General sighed. "In their parlance: they feel they are on a fool's errand--not unlike any of Caligula's grand fancies."

"Treason," Octavia said. "Janus should have them hanging from crosses in the middle of the work camps." The bodyguard was livid, the muscles in her neck and arms corded and taut.

"Then who, my dear, will be left to do all the heavy lifting, hmm?" Nero shook his head. "Still, this won't do," he said.

"Send me, Caesar," Octavia stood proudly. "I'm sure I could find ways to motivate the workers."

"No, no, dear Octavia," the Emperor smiled. "I need you here." He turned to the general. "Ride out there. Set the men back to work. Do what needs to be done." His blue eyes hardened. "Terrence, I cannot impress upon you the importance of this task I reward you with."

Terrence bowed. "I will ride for Alba Fucens as soon as my horse is ready, Caesar." The soldier left, his cloak trailing regally behind.

Octavia watched him go then turned back to Nero. "Given the current situation in the city and what's approaching from the north, can we really afford to have him leave Rome?"

Nero smiled mysteriously. "I'm sure we'll be alright."

The bodyguard seemed unconvinced as she looked out into the sweeping garden below the balcony. "What next, Caesar?"

The Emperor set himself to adjusting his laurel once again. "Patience, my dear, Octavia." He smiled. "Patience."

***

The servants always gave her a wide berth as they darted through the halls, moving with determination to their various tasks. They carried their trays, or platters or urns and, upon seeing her, averted their eyes and stepped to the side, allowing her easy passage. It had been an ongoing occurrence since she had arrived, but Gabrielle only noticed it on this morning.

_When did I become that person?_

While the servants had been at work for several candle-marks, and preparations for the day were well underway, much still needed attending to. The warrior was on her way out to the balcony where Mira slept--she needed the girl's help and energy.

Warm air and sunlight swelled in the corridor as she approached the doorway. Breezes were still flowing over the city, washing lightly over Gabrielle's skin as she stepped outside. She looked to the west, following the twist of the stagnant Tiberus beyond the hills of the city, out toward Ostia and the sea. A shadow of cloud lay along the horizon. Her instincts had been right, a storm was moving in. Just in time, she thought, looking to the tinder-dry trees with their withered and browned leaves. The warrior was surprised that no fires had erupted anywhere within the capitol up to this point.

She walked around to the east-facing section of the balcony, where the girl had fallen asleep. Sparrows eating crumbs in their anxious way, scattered to the air as she approached. She smiled at them as she rounded the corner. The bench was empty. Gabrielle ran a hand through her hair.

Shrugging, she moved back toward the house. The warrior carried a scroll in her hand, one of 'The Scrolls' as Mira referred to them. In between the chaos of preparation, she had managed to find it among the others scattered about her chambers. Without knowing why, she had taken it.

_How old it looks..._

And in truth, it was--over forty years old--but to the warrior it wasn't that simple. Parts of her felt as though the scroll came from another life, an artifact written by an entirely different person. Other parts remembered the work, the flow of words, as though they were written seconds before, ink still sinking into papyrus.

The parchment was smoothed to a shine in places, the morning light crowning the cylinder with a soft glow. She smiled at the bindings, repaired and upgraded by an Argive craftsman hired by Virgil years ago. Embroidered there upon the straps, in a bold crimson, was the title of the work: One Against an Army. Gabrielle smirked. I wonder if Aeschylus ever knew I gave him a nod with the title... Her grin splintered into mirthless dissonance and finally a soft frown. No one read this... no one read any of them...

The breezes feathered away, allowing the full heat of the climbing sun to fall upon the balcony. Gabrielle walked almost aimlessly into some shade. She unrolled the scroll just a sliver, letting her eyes pass over the fading words.

_And in the face of insurmountable peril, in the shadow of Death Herself,  
With poison washing cold through one,  
And brutal doubt coursing through the other,  
In the light of the cooking fires of the Great King's hordes,  
In the shadows of the Persian darkness that settled upon their land,  
The fair and true-eyed Warrior Princess  
And the flaxen-haired bard that was her soul's mate  
Prepared for their last night under the stars,  
For surely they would be dead by the end of the next day,  
And while doubt and fear for the life of her friend still plagued her,  
The steadfast Xena did not run or cower,  
She whispered to the poisoned girl, hoping to comfort her with some kind of joy or hope,  
"If this is to be our destiny, let's see it out together.  
Even in death, Gabrielle--I will never leave you."_

The warrior's hand crushed the scroll causing it to slouch at the middle. With a choked cry she hurled it to the ground. She brought a gauntlet across her eyes.

_Nothing can be done, can it? Not yet..._

She padded slowly to the balcony's edge, looking out, again, over the city to the Capitoline hill, to the Temple of Ares. Carefully, she slipped her finger within a pouch on her belt and lifted something before her eyes. The single strand of ebon hair trembled on the morning air, held between her fingers. Closing her eyes, Gabrielle gently ran the thin hair along a damp cheek, the caress causing a small shiver to thread through her. "Soon," she whispered. The warrior returned the hair back to its safe place and turned toward the home.

The scroll lay on the marble, open and shining in the sun and Gabrielle walked toward it, bending to pick it up. Her eyes passed over its browned surface.

_"I love you, Gabrielle," said the jet-haired Warrior Princess,  
Causing the sick and poisoned bard's heart to leap with soft joy  
And--as fleeting and beautiful as sunlight in darkest winter--hope._

She rolled it up and fastened the bindings. The western breeze began again causing the trees to whisper softly as they shrugged into one another. With a sigh, Gabrielle moved toward the house.

Turning around the corner and heading to the balcony's north entrance, she stretched her ribs. They still throbbed with pain, though no worse now than before. She shook her head. There was no telling when she would have the time to rest long enough for them to heal. She tested her breathing. While labored and somewhat painful, she could tell that the ribs had not punctured her lungs at all. I've had worse...

Eve poked her head out of the door to the mansion and smiled with a squint at the warrior. "There you are."

"Good morning," Gabrielle said with a slight grin.

The acolyte had a long robe of green linen draped about her and it flowed lightly in the breeze as she stepped out to meet her friend. She blinked looking slightly perplexed.

Gabrielle furrowed her brow with concern. "Are you alright?"

"I'm...I just..." Eve bit her lip. "I think so...just strange dreams..."

The warrior stiffened. "Of what?"

"Hard to say, really," the acolyte smiled. "Nothing. Everything. The usual."

Gabrielle laughed. "Haven't figured them out yet, huh?"

"No...I don't think I have." Eve moved to the edge of the balcony, looking out into the haze rising slowly over the city. "You were in them...and mother..." Gabrielle bowed her head slightly. Eve continued. "And other people... people I never met, never knew... Callisto...Eli..."

"Eli?" The warrior spoke incredulously. She clutched Eve's wrist with her free hand. "Did he speak? What did he tell you?"

Eve turned to face Gabrielle, a mysterious smile upon her lips. "Nothing. Everything. Riddles, I guess." The warrior's grip on her arm faded and they both turned back out toward the shimmering rooftops of waking Rome. Eve wrapped her arms about herself. "I'll need to think them over, meditate. There was a lot to take in, to understand, and I'm afraid the meaning of it all completely escaped me." She shut her eyes, rubbing the lids. "Maybe they were just dreams..."

Gabrielle slid her fingers through her hair. She turned to her friend. "I'm sorry, Eve…I wasn't around…I…"

The acolyte shook her head. "Don't," she said, smiling sadly. "Things are...complicated." She held the warrior's hand, looking deep into her eyes. "You're here now, right?"

"Right."

"Good. Then I know we are all safe," Eve said with a sure nod. "And that my friends will be rescued wherever they are."

Gabrielle averted her eyes, looking down onto the road that passed by the mansion far below the balcony, leading with a sweep down the Quirinal. She felt the acolyte move with uneasiness. The warrior turned back. "What is it?" she asked.

"There was no sign of the boy, no sign of Joshua, when you rescued Mira?"

"No. None." Gabrielle shook her head. Mira had made a frantic search, even as the warrior had protested, but there had been no clues to the boy's whereabouts or whether he was alive or dead. "Just like the rest: he had disappeared without a trace." She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Eve met her friend's question with a veiled gaze then shook her head, smiling dismissively. "I'm not sure, other than I'm worried about him." She patted Gabrielle's hand. "I need to speak with someone before this morning's council." Gathering her robe she moved to go. "I'll see you there?"

The warrior nodded. "Of course," she said. She watched Eve walk away and into the home. Her gaze passed back over the wide forum, to the Capitoline hill.

_And here we are again, full circle--the Greater Good against the will of my heart. Do you remember on Fujisan, when I told you I didn't care about those forty thousand souls, about what was right? For a brief second, your resolve disappeared. Did you not realize the absolute endlessness of my love for you, even then, after everything? Is that why you smiled? It was then that I finally understood what you had been troubled with at Tripolis, when I was poisoned, and why you had listened to me. It was then that I understood, as I still do today. But it was a slow suicide. "You're my whole life," I said. And what has become of it now without you? No wonder I am impatient, no wonder every impulse I have is a selfish one. How many times since sunset have I made up my mind to come for you only to shake such fancy away?_

The warrior's hand clutched at the balcony's marble balustrade, muscles twitching throughout her body. Her breathing quickened. Her mouth went dry. She shut her eyes and sighed, her shoulders slumping.

Gathering her scroll, Gabrielle turned and wandered into the mansion with a pensive expression. In the shadowed, marble halls, servants evaded her once again as she passed silently among them. Soon, she arrived at the door to her quarters. Someone was inside; she could hear them breathing--Mira. She opened the door and entered.

The girl sat on the bed staring at her feet. Gabrielle walked calmly over to the table and tossed the scroll onto it. The warrior tilted her head at the girl. "Where'd you go? I've been looking all over for you."

Mira's face contorted. "Oh yeah?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Yeah. There's a lot that needs to get done around here."

The girl's laugh was clotted with bitterness. "So you're actually doing things around here now, huh?"

The warrior crossed her arms. "Uh, yeah I am, and I could use your help."

"You could use my help?" Mira scowled. "You could use my help? A lot needs to get done around here and you could use my help?" She pulled at her hair. "Gods, Gabrielle. Do you hear yourself?"

"I..."

"Where in Tartarus have you been for the last week? Haven't you noticed what you've been doing? What's been happening? You've been a ghost, moping and haunting the streets of this damn town." The girl was shaking, her teeth barred. "Getting you to actually do something to help these people--your friends, your living, breathing friends--is like pulling teeth. Then you disappeared when we needed you the most--when I needed you the most."

"Mira--"

"We got chased across half the city, shot at, trapped, captured by some jerk, saw a bunch of slaughtered guys and then I almost got killed by Nemesis."

Gabrielle bowed her head. "I'm..."

"And now... now Joshua...they're all missing..." Tears welled up in the girl's eyes. "I hate you right now," she said, her voice breaking.

"I'm sorry." The warrior said simply. The bones in her cheek, her jaw became pronounced. "I haven't been myself lately, and I let you down." She took an unsure step toward her friend.

"That's not good enough for me right now," Mira said coldly. She sat down on the bed again.

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed, brows drawing together. Quickly keeping her anger in check, the warrior's lips remained closed in a tight line. With a small nod, she moved to leave then stopped. "Are you coming to the council?"

'Nope." Mira began biting absently at a fingernail.

Sighing, Gabrielle left the room. The hallways were busy with activity, servants moving with purpose, busy with their various errands. They avoided the warrior as she made her way toward the meeting chamber and the council.

***

There was a tomcat on its back, rolling decadently in the dust. Eve smiled at it. It righted itself and watched her, somewhat disinterested, while still maintaining a certain degree of aloof suspicion.

The acolyte continued along the path from the mansion to the large building that was the Senator's stables. The senator's horses had been moved to one of the three buildings, allowing the Elians who had gathered space to live. She passed many families and followers who greeted her as she moved along.

Sitting upon a stone bench, shaded beneath a stretch of palms sat Analea, who smiled as Eve approached. The acolyte nodded. "Good morning."

The girl bowed her head in greeting. "How are you, Eve?"

"Curious and confused, actually."

The young woman tilted her head with concern. "Oh?"

Eve shook her head. "It's nothing to worry about," she mused. "Dreams and dreams and dreams…"

Analea looked skeptical. "My mother always said that dreams are doorways beyond which time and the soul were one." She became serious. "What is it you dreamed of?"

Doves took flight from beneath a tall pine, staying clustered as they arced over the senator's grounds and out across the rooftops of the city beyond the mansion's tall, plant-covered walls. Eve watched them then smiled at the woman's words, choosing to avoid the question. "Your mother was a wise woman." The acolyte became serious, saddened. "And a good friend."

Both women remained silent, pensive. Eve put her hand on Analea's. The still odd morning breezes hissed through the treetops, throwing a stuttering trickle of light through the shade where they sat. Eve watched the tomcat stroll off into the high golden grass, disappearing in its lazy sway. "You've been a follower of Eli all your life, haven't you?"

The young woman nodded. "Mother and father were some of the first. They followed Eli through Phoenicia, Egypt, back to Greece."

Eve smiled sadly. "Rhea always spoke fondly of those times, even though they were so hard, so tragic."

"Eli changed my parents' lives." Analea met the acolyte's gaze. "As you have changed mine."

Eve shook her head, began to speak. The young woman waved her off. "It's true. Do you not believe it?" Her eyes filled with a wondrous gratitude. "I grew up a follower of Eli, but only in birth. He had been dead for almost twenty years when I was born and his followers were scattered and hiding across the world.

"Romans hunted us, warlords killed us for sport and worshippers of other gods ridiculed and reviled us." She shook her head, forlornly. "I passed through countless towns and cities. I saw how other children lived, with homes, with families, with…with happiness." She looked up, somewhat ashamed. "I was a girl and I wanted those things, that happiness for myself, for mother and for father.

"When I asked them why we couldn't have those things, they couldn't understand why I wasn't happy. 'Didn't I feel loved?' they asked. 'Didn't I feel wanted?' And I suppose I did, but something was missing."

Her face drooped with an old pain. "Then father died--the Romans, as you know--and for a while even mother seemed to give up.

"But somehow, given time, she carried on. She told us all of Eli, his words, his beliefs. She even spoke of your mother, and of Gabrielle."

She bowed her head. "Still I felt nothing, only emptiness. These were only words and every day our numbers dwindled. I was only nine years old and already so accustomed to death--so accustomed to thinking of my own death that a part of me wanted it, would have welcomed crucifixion and the afterlife.

"It was a dark place to be."

Analea raised her eyes to Eve, passionately capturing her gaze. "Then you came to us, Eve. You came to us, you united us, you taught us the way of light and of love again." A tear flowed along her soft cheek. "And finally--much to my surprise--because of you, I believed. All of us did."

Eve squeezed the woman's hand. She turned away slightly. "I couldn't protect your mother."

"Because of you her life was only made greater and her death given a purpose. Don't you see?" she asked. "She always spoke of Eli, of his greatness and how we should never forget; never lose faith in his teachings. And when you came along, she knew she had been right, that her faith had been vindicated."

Eve hugged the woman, kissing the back of her head. Her eyes filled with tears. "Thank you," she said.

They remained that way for a few minutes then Analea sat up. "Mother often said you and Eli were so much alike. She had spoken with him many times while he was alive, and said you had similar spirits, similar trials."

Eve looked at her, becoming pensive. "Did Eli ever talk to your mother about the future?"

"Prophecy, you mean?" She shook her head. "No, I think he always enforced how important it was to stay in the present and focus on the here and now."

The acolyte seemed disappointed. She rubbed her hands. "Do you think he knew he was going to die?"

Analea blinked at her, thought about it then nodded sadly. "My mother said there was a sense that day that Eli knew his fate would be sealed in Ostia and had accepted it. But he never mentioned it to anyone."

Eve seemed lost in thought.

Analea fussed with something around her neck, preparing to get up. "He did have strange dreams that he sometimes told everyone about. They didn't seem to make sense, so he told them to everyone to pass the time, whenever they were in hiding, like stories."

Eve smiled, humoring her. Analea continued, still playing with a chain around her neck. "I remember this one, my father told us about it when we were hiding out in the sewers around here one time when I was very young. He told me Eli had told him the story when they had used the very same sewers about a month before he died. I think there was a gorgon in it or--"

"What did you say?" Eve turned back.

"When?" Analea leaned forward, her hands falling to her sides.

"About the sewers…you hid out in the sewers under Rome?"

"Yes, we stayed in an abandoned part of them for a few weeks. Much like you, Eli felt that hiding in plain sight was a good strategy." She smiled then proceeded to play again with the necklace which now hung above her robes.

Eve's eyes went wide. "Your necklace…may I see it?"

"Of course." She leaned forward.

Eve held the small medallion in her hands. It was the same as the one worn by the young woman in her dream--the young woman who was Analea's mother, years before. "Your mother gave you this. I didn't recognize her so young--and your father, I never knew him."

Analea started. "Yes. Yes she did. How--how did you?"

The acolyte's mind raced, reevaluating aspects of her dream. She turned to the woman, grabbing her shoulders. "Can you find the abandoned sewers where you stayed? Can you take me to them?"

Analea straightened. "Of course."

Eve stood. "Be ready to leave in two candle-marks."

The acolyte passed several of the followers. They smiled and bowed as she moved quickly past them. Small glimpses of hope could be seen upon their faces, like smudges of dirt at the corners of their mouths.

Eve left, not sure what she was about to embark upon. She knew that it was essential for the future of the Elians for her to meet with her friends, now, to discuss the plans to smuggle the followers out of the city. But this new turn of events, born from out of her dreams, why did it seem more important to her now? She had to follow it through, she knew she did. The acolyte walked steadily to the mansion and the council that was about to begin.

***

On couches in the dinning chamber, Virgil laughed heartily in conversation with Seneca and the merchant Cyrus. It echoed warmly across the marble walls.

Gabrielle and Gallus paced through the room, the warrior gazing distractedly at the artwork adorning its walls and the senator detailing each piece's history. She stopped before a strange fresco, painted in muted tones near the doorway.

The painting depicted the earth seen from high above, with all of its animals and plants and people going about their daily lives. The animals preyed upon one another, the people toiled in the fields or fought or loved. Cities grew and fell into ruin. Looking down upon this--also seen from above, closer, in more detail--were the Olympian gods. They stood boldly in their gilded halls, or sat watching, laughing upon their thrones, by blazing hearths and braziers. Only one among them was not laughing, only one was not watching the folly of man and animal--Aphrodite. The Goddess of Love's gaze was directed up, beyond the peaks of ponderous Olympus, up to something beyond the scope of the painting, something all-encompassing, enormous. Aphrodite's expression remained enigmatic, which lent the whole painting an air of uneasiness and dread.

The warrior smirked. "Quaint picture."

Gallus tittered. "Yes, not the most warm, I'll admit. The painter was never well; prone to visions and voices." He smiled. "Quite insane, really."

Gabrielle nodded solemnly. "What's it called?"

The senator turned to her. "Higher Powers," he said.

The warrior looked at the painting one last time before moving to a nearby couch. Gallus remained at the painting, finally turning as Eve entered the room.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, sitting near Virgil and Seneca.

"Not at all, my dear," Gallus said with a smile, moving to the circle of couches where everyone sat. The senator put his arm on Gabrielle's shoulder and addressed the room. "If we are all present and ready?"

Virgil motioned for Gallus to begin. The senator adjusted his robes, and moved to the center of the room, pacing around the low table that had a map of the city draped across it. A cautious smile brightened his face. "I begin today's council with good news," he intoned. While he directed the announcement to everyone, he turned to Eve, speaking directly to her. "I have word that the missing Elians have been found."

A collective wave of relief passed through the room. Eve glowed with joy. Gallus continued: "While my friends and the followers themselves have no idea how, they appeared at the safe-house on the western edge of the wall during the night. Some of my kitchen staff are bringing them here now, as we speak."

Virgil winked at Gabrielle. "Hidden in some apple carts," he whispered. The poet pointed to his temple. "My idea."

The warrior nodded, smiling, trying to ignore the warning, the uneasiness in her heart. "They 'appeared,' you say?" She asked.

Gallus nodded. "That's the best anyone can describe it as. They woke up in a storage room in the safe-house, and no one is sure how they got there."

The old man, Seneca, shook his head. "From what I've heard the last thing they remember is being in the dungeon at the temple of Ares," he said. "Then the storage room; hours later."

Virgil rubbed his chin. "Perhaps we should not stare down Fortune's favor, especially during days such as these."

Gallus nodded. "We should attend to more pressing matters, yes." He moved back to the map. "As you can see, the Praetorians have increased their stranglehold on the city overnight." He pointed to the various chits representing cohorts of troops dotting the map at various intersections. "Checkpoints have been increased, and most of the troops have moved into the city from the Praetorian camp to the north, strengthening the Urban Cohorts."

Seneca closed his eyes, sighing. "They're using the library as a temporary headquarters."

Gabrielle stood and walked slowly toward the map. Her eyes never left it, darting across it with a pinpoint focus and intensity. "Are we still going with the original plan?" she asked.

Gallus and Virgil looked to Cyrus, who nodded confidently. The senator turned back to Gabrielle. "Unless you think otherwise, yes, we still plan on smuggling them out with Cyrus and his friends."

A soft draft of air entered the room, bringing the scent of the arid morning on its threads. The warrior stood over the map, green eyes unblinking. "But we need to get the caravan through these checkpoints?"

"Indeed we do." Virgil stood, a little excited to participate. "We have a route to the west that will take us through the least amount of checkpoints--only three."

"What's the standard procedure at these checkpoints?" Gabrielle asked.

Gallus shrugged. "Praetorians search the cargo, take names then check permits." He smiled. "It's annoying and time consuming."

"But the false bottoms are undetectable," Virgil said with a smirk. "The oafs will never find them."

"And Cyrus and his men are foreign traders, so they're used to the hassle," the senator finished. The merchant nodded with a wink at his friends.

Gabrielle never took her eyes off the map. She shook her head. "I don't like it. It's still too risky."

Virgil moved in beside her. "There's no way to avoid all the checkpoints--three checkpoints is the best we can do."

Crossing her arms, Gabrielle began to straighten, her small form appearing to increase in mass, in stature. The warrior looked to Gallus, to Seneca. "How do Imperial supplies move through the city?" she asked. "The Praetorian infrastructure would need speedy supply lines. Any contracted merchants and workmen would need the ability to avoid the checkpoints somehow...or at least be able to move through them quickly, right?"

The old man nodded with a smile. "They do indeed. We had thought of this already child, but it is too risky."

Gabrielle met the old man's gaze. "Let me be the judge of that."

Virgil and Gallus exchanged looks, while Seneca grinned at Eve, who watched Gabrielle intently. Gallus shrugged. "Those merchants contracted by the Empire are given special passwords to move through the checkpoints with ease. The passwords are changed each day."

"Who has the passwords and where do I find them?" the warrior asked.

Seneca chuckled. "The passwords are no doubt scrawled on some document somewhere, most likely kept at the temporary headquarters--"

"The library," Gabrielle finished.

"They're sent out with riders to the various checkpoints each morning." Gallus nodded.

"It's settled then," Gabrielle motioned to the map, the small square that was the library. "I'll get us the passwords from the library."

"Gabrielle." Virgil shook his head. "You can't just waltz in there and steal the passwords--"

"Watch me."

For a moment, there was silence then Seneca looked to the warrior. "Child, how do you plan on achieving this? At any given time there would be at least five-hundred men in the building. Not to mention the several cohorts stationed at checkpoints within a five hundred yard radius." He shook his head gravely. "They could have over two thousand men at the library within minutes."

Gabrielle looked to the map and then to the old man. "No matter how intense this state of emergency is, there has to be soft spots in the armor." She addressed the room. "There has to be a point where regular citizens--or slaves, even--are allowed to enter and exit that building." Eve smiled at Virgil who was beginning to understand. The warrior continued. "I just need to get close enough to the building, the rest is easy."

Gallus shook his head. "That's the problem. You know how difficult it's been to get around the city? Well the difficulty is doubled now."

"Maybe not for everyone." Virgil grinned. "I'm sure there are still those who move around the city freely and without a care."

Gabrielle nodded. "Thieves."

"Indeed." Seneca chuckled. "I suppose times are dark enough that it has come to this, hmm?"

Gallus looked skeptical. "Can we trust some cutthroat to help you avoid the Praetorians and lead you to the library?"

"We can trust they would do it if the price was right," the warrior said with confidence. She looked to Virgil. "Where do the better thieves tend to congregate?"

The poet looked insulted. "Why, Gabrielle, what makes you think that I would know?"

"Because thieves throw some of the best parties in the city," Eve retorted with a smile.

"And no one else would invite you, my boy," Seneca added with a laugh.

Virgil chuckled, a far away look veiling his eyes. "True...true..." He straightened, clearing his throat. "There is a bar, Orion's Belt, down in the Boarium. You'll find someone there, of that I am certain."

"It's settled then," the warrior nodded. "I'll leave as soon as soon as I can."

The senator looked to Virgil, to Cyrus, to Eve, to Seneca. "And we'll continue with our preparations. If that is all--"

"It's not." Eve stood.

Gabrielle met the acolyte's gaze, questioning it. "What is it?"

Eve's face calmed. "It's best if I ask that you trust what I must do right now. The purpose of my task will only be understood upon its completion."

Looking confused, Virgil blinked at his friend. "What is it, Eve? What do you have to do?"

"Again, I ask that you trust me." She met his gaze. "I must return to the city--there's something I have to find."

Gabrielle approached Eve. The warrior moved her lips to speak, but stopped as she looked into her friend's eyes. She nodded. "How long will you be gone?"

Virgil exhaled loudly, exasperated. "I can't believe this," he strode over to the two women. "You're just going to let Eve march off into the city with every soldier in town on the lookout for her?"

Gabrielle turned to the poet, but it was Eve who spoke, her voice remaining calm and even. "I have to do this, Virgil." Her eyes were clear, determined. "My safety is irrelevant."

"To you maybe," the poet said intensely then blushed. "B-but what about to the rest of us?"

Eve smiled her eyes warm, apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I must."

Sighing, Virgil softened with resignation. "Can I help, somehow?"

"Continue with the preparations," she said. "I'll be back by nightfall."

"Well, I don't like this," he said. He grinned throwing his arms in the air. "Then again since this whole heat-wave-state of emergency thing started, there hasn't been much I've fancied going on around here."

Gallus opened his arms. "It would seem we all have our grievous errands on this day." He turned to Virgil and Seneca. "Preparations must be finalized for the meeting later today. Perhaps we should begin immediately."

Gabrielle nodded. "Good luck to you all," she said and took her leave.

Eve gathered her robes and prepared to exit. Virgil got her attention. "Be careful, Eve," he said, somewhat gravely then self-consciously, he brightened. "I won't be around to protect you this time," he said with a wink.

She laughed. "I'll do my best." The acolyte left, heading down the hall to her chamber.

Virgil watched her as she left.

"She'll be okay," Seneca said.

Virgil nodded with furrowed brow, obviously preoccupied. "I know they will."

The old man smiled, putting his hand upon his friend's shoulder. He expanded his chest, taking in a great breath. "If we're going to do some serious preparing today, gentlemen," he blustered. "I'm going to need some food in my belly. Gallus, why was there breakfast at the meeting the other day and none today? I thought you said you were a Roman senator..."

The three men chuckled and headed off for the kitchens, voices clouding with echoes as they disappeared down the high marble halls.

***

Ivy spilled down the high walls of the mansion, still quite green despite the lack of water and the intense heat of the last weeks. Curling and hanging like locks of hair softly dangling just above a woman's neck the plants provided a lush accompaniment to the glorious marble-work of the home. The ivy swayed in the slowly strengthening breezes. Nestled within its shade sparrows made their nests, poking in and out of the shadows, flying to and from various errands.

A long staircase led down to the courtyard and grounds surrounding the mansion, etched out in wide, shallow steps and bordered on the outer side by an ornate banister. There were large flower pots, empty now, the flowers long burnt and dead, dotting the steep flight up to the mansion. Brown and dead leaves fell through the western breezes tumbling with soft crackles down the stairs--they drifted end over end until spilling past the legs of Mira, who sat chin on hand at the bottom.

The girl watched as the tiny birds lighted into foliage behind her, rustling and chirping with their families. She sighed. This was the simplest of moments--something that she had never truly appreciated before. _Not until…_

_Until I almost died…_

She had been too angry before, too self-pitying to think about it, but as she had walked through the senator's gardens an overwhelming sense of how close to death she had come descended upon her. Her breathing quickened, becoming shallow and almost useless. Eventually she was forced to sit at the base of the stairs, haunted by images from the night before and their terrifying weight…

_The assassin, beautiful, tall, cloaked in blood red strides toward her. Her smoky blade shivers in the timid light. Amplified in the wide space around them Her voice is rough with neglect…_

_\--This is the end, little one…_

_The blade goes up, so close and she can hear the woman breathing: steady, even and her own breaths: ragged, quick and thinks how it's the last thing she will hear and that soon only one of the breaths will remain and she is sad because it won't be hers..._

Mira wiped at her eyes. With a growl, she kicked at a loose stone near her feet, sending it spinning into the dirt. A cloud of dust puffed in its wake.

_Some sidekick…_

With a self-loathing scowl she recalled Britannia, the long journey there, and for what? Gabrielle had been her usual laconic self and remained withdrawn, absent through much of the time in that damp and miserable place. Mira had caught a cold and sniffled up and down the lush green hills, through the slop of the shadowed moors.

Then the dreams began, the nagging dreams about how she was no good, would never be. How she was useless. How she would get Gabrielle killed because of her incompetence and rotten streak.

Then things became peculiar. She remembered how they came upon the village, the inhabitants lost in sleep. The dreamscape bled into the surrounding countryside, at first bizarre, but eventually terrifying and dangerous. Gabrielle told her to stay behind, but of course, she hadn't. Mira had figured she could play the hero, save the day.

Then things became worse. She was captured, brought to that terrible place, to the dark castle--where every part of her soul was turned and sunk into her like hundreds of tiny black pins, each with its own unique and exquisite agony. The castle of the Dream Queen, on the borders between sleep and waking life, and she spent what felt like decades in its dungeons. She remembered the words of Maeb--she could see the viciously beautiful face of the Dream Queen, smirking at her, the cruel, violet gaze, the voice, hypnotic, soft and terrible:

_\--You're more of a hostage than a hero, my tasty sweetling…_

_With glee, the evil spirit had twisted the girl's insecurities and cultivated a self-loathing and font of doubt that she had yet to shake free. It had only been over the last few days in Rome, and after last night's encounter with Nemesis that she had even thought of them, let them affect her._

_Eventually, of course, Gabrielle had come for her, pale faced, after clawing her way through the castle's horrifying caverns. The warrior had rescued her and together they had stopped Maeb. Not before Mira had learned many of her new friend's secrets, much of her past._

_Later, she had tried to apologize, but Gabrielle shrugged, throwing wood on the campfire._

_\--Everything turned out fine in the end._

_\--I guess._

_The warrior had become pensive, forlorn._

_\--I'm sorry I made you come here…_

She hugged her knees. The birds chirped happily behind her.

While she was furious with Gabrielle's lapse in responsibility and blamed the warrior for Joshua's disappearance, Mira's heart sank whenever she considered her lack of abilities and remembered how close it came to having her killed. She ran a hand through her hair.

Someone took to the stairs behind, but she didn't lift her head to look. They paused briefly then steadily descended to her.

"There you are." It was Gabrielle.

"Here I am," Mira mumbled.

The warrior stopped a few steps behind the girl. "I'm going to be leaving," she said. "Soon."

The girl nodded, didn't turn.

Gabrielle shifted. "It's going to be dangerous."

Mira bit at a nail. "Be careful."

"Mira…" The warrior sighed. "Look…I…I want you to come with me…I need your help." The girl turned eyes wide. Gabrielle nodded. "I just didn't want to speak for you…like I said, it's dangerous."

Mira's head sank. "I can't."

"What?"

"I can't." The girl repeated. "I'll…I'll only get you captured or killed or something…"

Gabrielle moved to Mira's step, leaning against the marble banister but not sitting. She crossed her arms. "Listen to me, I know you're upset about what happened, but that wasn't your fault. It was mine--I let you down and it almost got you killed and I'm sorry."

Mira turned to her. "I'm scared," she said simply.

Holding back tears, Gabrielle knelt beside her friend. "I know. That's okay. It's okay to be afraid of…of what happened." She put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "But you can't let this stop you from moving on, from helping. I promise I'll do everything I can to make sure you won't be that afraid ever again, okay?"

"Okay." The girl nodded, obviously touched.

"Okay. Good."

They remained in silence for a moment, the morning swelling around them. The warrior ran a hand through her hair. "Look…I'm--"

"If something is hurting you, why won't you let me try and help?" Mira met the warrior's eyes, tears welling. "What good am I to you if I can't even do that?"

"Hey," Gabrielle put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "What are you talking about?"

"You heard me."

The warrior sighed. "What's been going on right now is…" Every attempt to find words, to give meaning to what she knew in her heart fell short and faded into nothing. "I don't even have words to explain it to myself, so how can I tell you?"

Mira turned to her friend, crying. "You could at least have told me that."

"You're right." Gabrielle knelt and ran her hand along the girl's damp cheek, causing Mira to almost jump back in surprise. "I'm so sorry."

They smiled sadly at one another. Birds took flight in the air near the gate. Mira squinted into the rising dust kicked up by a caravan of wagons entering the estate. She sniffed back tears. "Who's that?"

"A surprise," Gabrielle said, smiling.

"Huh?"

"C'mon." The warrior grabbed Mira by the hand and they descended the stairs, heading for the approaching wagons.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on?" Mira asked, being dragged along.

Gabrielle winked. "Don't you like surprises?"

The girl scowled. "Not anymore."

"Fair enough," the warrior conceded. "The missing Elians turned up during the night."

To her credit, Mira hid the explosion of emotion that coursed through her, managing to have it appear as an acceptable and appropriate form of relief upon her face. "They're alright?"

"They're alright."

"Good." The girl nonchalantly peeked over the side of the carts as they passed her.

Soon, the caravan had come to a stop and the servants began to help the tired but healthy followers of Eli from beneath their baskets of apples. They hugged and stretched happily.

Mira looked about confusedly. She approached a familiar face. "Where is Joshua?"

The man's face grew sullen. "We…we don't know."

"What do you mean 'you don't know'?" Mira asked pointedly.

Gabrielle stepped to her side. "They don't know what happened, Mira. They just disappeared from one place and re-appeared in another. I guess Joshua…"

The man nodded. "Joshua never returned to the cell."

The girl's shoulders sank. "What's that supposed to mean? He could have re-appeared somewhere, too, right?"

"Of course he could have." The warrior put her hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Then we have to find him." Mira turned. "There's no time to waste."

Gabrielle shook her head. "Mira, we can't. There are more important--"

"What's more important?" There was anger growing in the girl's eyes. "He's our friend."

The warrior sighed. "We have a mission. Hundreds of people's lives depend on us and depend on what we do right now. We can't just throw that aside and start looking for someone who may not even be in the same city as us right now."

Mira crossed her arms. "Is this where you tell me about the 'greater good' and all that crap?"

"Yes it is." The warrior swallowed, taking a deep breath. "Right now you're going to have to put aside your feelings and just get the job done." She brought her green eyes to meet Mira's. "If you can't understand that, then I've taught you nothing."

The girl slouched, though the scowl remained on her face. "Fine," she said as she headed back toward the house. "But I don't have to like it."

Gabrielle watched her leave. The breeze picked up again and the warrior closed her eyes as it cooled her skin. She sighed.

_That makes two of us, my friend…_

***

Morning was dying in the valley below the Domus Aurea, slumping tragically over the temples and grand Senatorial homes that led off to the northwest and the broad Forum. One could see it, a sallow nimbus lit by swelling sunlight, draped over the buildings there. It suffered in the growing heat and was pushed into hiding by the light western breezes. Soon it would collapse, shudder, expire behind the nearby Palatine, fingers outstretched and grasping--until it is finally crushed beneath the heels of the afternoon.

Birds soared listlessly over the city, turning one way then another, seemingly lost, without a destination. Echoing over the seven hills, dogs barked out to one another, growing desperate as though unable to hear the far off responses. Still the people crowded the streets. As afternoon approached, the thoroughfares became crowded, clustered, as people took advantage of the slight change in weather.

From his place upon the grand balcony at the Domus, Nero sighed, shaking his head. He turned and walked back inside, into his sprawling bedchamber. Shrugging the lion skin draped over his shoulders, he moved naked toward the large bed, upon which the also nude Octavia sat, watching him. She raised an eyebrow. "Caesar?"

"Rome is such an ugly place, isn't it?" He said, sadly. "And not just the buildings, the people--its soul is." The bodyguard blinked at him, listening. He shook his head again. "The sad thing is: I know how to fix it. I know how to fix it but the pathetic old fools won't let me."

"There's no way the Senate can stop you now, Caesar." Octavia said.

He smiled. "As stupid as people are, my dear, it wouldn't work." The emperor gestured outside. "This little coup that's developing out there, it would only be fueled by such a maneuver. Things are too fragile right now."

They sat in silence for a moment. Octavia tilted her head. "You have a plan, I take it?"

Nero grinned. "Why Octavia, of course I do." He stood again, a gaunt sliver of restless energy. "Of course I do." Moving to a table strewn with refreshments, Nero poured himself a glass of wine. He turned, leaning against the table. "It's all but a matter of time, my dear." He winked. "And time is something we will soon have on our side." The Emperor sipped at his wine.

Octavia leaned back, resting on her elbows. Nero admired her tanned form, its sleek muscles. She nodded. "Mount Vigilis," she said.

He smiled mischievously. "My 'fool's errand,' you mean?"

The bodyguard tilted her head in curiosity. "What is buried beneath the rock?"

"Change, sweet Octavia. Change is buried there."

She seemed more and more intrigued. "Change of what sort?"

"Of the greatest sort," Nero said. He paused for a moment, thinking. "Yes…

"Change, destiny, the greater Good--these are not the concern of ordinary men. If anything, they are things to be avoided, to cower in fear from, evaded at all costs.

"No my dear, these are not the concerns of ordinary men--they are the concerns of an Emperor." Nero grew somber. "The days are dark and strange now, Gods shuffle hidden through backstreets, bartering for power like cattle sellers, while men talk of having the power to heal, to destroy as though born of Olympus.

"The days are dark and strange indeed, yet glorious, too. Rome grips the entire world in her grasp, is the greatest Empire history has known--yet frail and shrivel-witted old men attempt to rule where the power of a God is needed. They grasp pitifully at what Rome once was, never visualizing what it can become with only the proper will to shape it.

"These are the thoughts I have pondered long into the night, sweet Octavia. It is a new era and a new Rome is needed--with a new face, a new body, a new soul--with a new kind of Emperor to guide it. The decisions I make will not be popular ones but they are mine to make." He smiled at the bodyguard. "And no old fools shall stand in my way. And no rabble of moth-eaten peasant filth, either. No armies. No gods." His gaze became veiled in a silent dissonance trapped within his skull. "For I will call upon the elements as my allies--to the earth, to the noble air, to water…"

He came back to himself, grinning at Octavia. "And to fire, of course…"

The Emperor walked back to the bed, sitting upon it. "I have a small task for you." He stopped himself. "Well two, actually."

Octavia nodded. "Caesar."

"There are some preparations that need attending to this afternoon." He smirked.

"Of course," she said with a bow of her head. "And the other?"

Nero clutched her arm roughly throwing her to the mattress. He slid on top of the bodyguard, smiling with a subtle cruelty. With a quick snap of his head he bit her lip, drawing a small drop of blood. She groaned, not without pleasure. Pulling his lips away, Nero shrugged, pressing himself against her. "I still haven't finished from last time…"

***

The sky is groaning.

It spins in swells of darkest ash, of charred bone, of ink. The winds, strong and swollen limbed, hurl it ever westward and it tumbles across the sea, over the spread wings of the pale coast. Its voice shudders overhead, breaking into pounding echoes thrown like so much shrapnel across the horizon.

And the sea boils against the rocks, swallowing great gulps of sand, tearing stone from the broad cliff-faces to the south. Advancing, marching over itself in green armored waves and spilling onto the land where it is vanquished, only to return, to continue the onslaught. Spray streaks through the air, hanging silver, hanging gray in sheets, in volleys spun through ether, chains of it glinting in the strobes of lightning.

More thunder--it shakes the abandoned villa. Eroded bits of marble crumble and spill to the ground in mute puffs of dust. She is oblivious to it, watching, feeling the storm from the long balcony over the sea. There is a charge that plays over the silk of her skin, setting the fine hairs on end, sinking to bone. Her muscles tingle, drink blood, swell with life. As lightning tumbles through the sky, there is a wash of invisible current or force that strikes her body and she feels flush with power.

Clad only in her crimson shift, Her skin is not pressed upon or suffocated by the weight of armor, but caressed to life by the soft cloth, by trickles of air. Without Her helm, She feels a part of Her surroundings, that She can gain strength from the violence around Her. Her hair is the night, wind swept and dark as hatred, as fear. Tresses whip unruly, free around Her face, shoulders. There is the soft satisfaction of Her bare feet stretched upon marble. She feels the blood coursing through Her, the strength in Her limbs--the life pulsing inside Her.

_The life..._

She opens Her hands, looks at them--scans the palms, flips them and looks at the knuckles, the tendons. Strong, slender hands more familiar, somehow, more familiar than ever before. They twist--too easy--into fists.

_Always so easy...But why?_

A flash of lightning stretches into the turmoil with fingers of pale light spread over the Tyrrhenum, spiking into the churning waves. She moves to the table, to Her weapons, to Her armor. Glittering in the shadows and arcing light they lie sharpened and perfect. She passes Her fingers over them--the finery of Her armor skirt, Her helm polished to a mirror-like shine, Meridian silent in its inlayed scabbard, Her bracers, gauntlets, the rest.

She begins to dress, losing Herself in the ritual of it. The armor slides onto Her shoulders, over Her body, it weighs next to nothing. The gauntlets, Her cloak--meticulously crafted, slip on without effort.

Then She holds the blade in Her hands. More thunder. She frees Meridian, glimpsing its clouded face.

_The dividing line..._

A perfect name--the line of division between so much. Between life and death, true, but also, as an instrument of the Gods'--Her master's--vengeance, the sword was the division between Good and Evil, Light and Darkness. The blade polarized while simultaneously destroying. On one side She stood, a tool of retribution, on the other those who would oppose divine will and in-between: Meridian.

She straps the blade, the scabbard over Her shoulder and reaches for the polished helm. In it, Her face stares back, blue-eyed, resigned, more familiar, somehow, more familiar than ever before...

_The dirt is rough with pebbles and it scrapes at Her fingers as She digs the hole. She remembers digging holes with Her brothers in the hills, the woods beyond Amphipolis. It is staggering how far in time and place--and in spirit, She is from there right now. Sighing, She keeps digging._

_Soon there is a trench sunk into the dark earth, shallow but enough. She places them there--Her leather, Her armor, the sword She had used for more than half Her life--She places them into the ground. Pausing, She looks at them then picks up Her sword. She slips it free from the scabbard using Her thumb, exposing the well-maintained, well-loved blade. Her face is reflected there, blue-eyed, resigned._

_Finally, She thinks. The last day…_

_Then she is covering it all with dirt, smoothing it over. To Her feet now, already forgetting where it is behind Her, She moves off into the mists, toward the army._

_When She was younger, angry, this death was the one She valued most, the one She would dream about. The glory of battle, of death or victory, was an ultimate goal. Now it seemed tragic and unfortunate and something She hated Herself for. And lonely, so lonely... But it was the only way, wasn't it?_

_There is a moment where She almost turns back--when She thinks of Gabrielle. She has no other plan, but perhaps they could find one together. A wave of shame takes Her as She realizes She doesn't care if they do, as long as She could press Her lips to those lips, Her body against the heat, the desire of the bard one more time._

_Gods, how I've loved you…how I love you…_

_Stopping for a moment, She sighs, must stem the flow of tears, again._

_With a growl, She takes the chakram in hand._

_The last day…_

_There is the point, before the arc of the throw, where She and the weapon are divided, where both are harmless, crude things, separate. But soon, there is the moment, just before the release, when it is impossible to distinguish between them. When both are the weapon, when both are deadly, when both are beautiful and alive--when both are one._

_It occurs to Her here that in Her best moments, She has lived Her life in this instant…_

_After the fireball, the explosion She is ready and slips into the fog, the ash. Through the ghost trees, the twisted underbrush, the small fires, She moves without a sound._

_Already a ghost, she thinks with a smile._

_Then, heavy-footed, they come for Her and Her blade meets them in the soot and they fall--ten, twenty, one hundred. Glorious, but it only makes Her tired to think of it._

_Soon She is injured. The arrows fall black from the sky, piercing Her flesh. The first few hurt the most, but soon they are like the bites of gnats. There is a point where She knows She is hurt far worse than any other time in Her life and it is refreshing, to find something new in the midst of the familiar monotony of battle. And still--too easily--She kills them._

_Until the one._

_As Her vision blurs, She knows it will be him. Looking into his eyes, She knows She has fought and defeated scores of better warriors, but it will be him. She makes sure he knows, with a look, that She has let him do this, that She holds the power in this. That death was a door and it was She who decided to walk through it._

_It is an acceptable death._

_For a while--She knows not how long--it is like a dream fading into nothingness at the end of the night. And as She lies numb, winking out, there is but one soft name in Her mind--one soft name and one unshakable truth…_

_She will return..._

Thunder again.

Meridian echoes the loud shudder across the sky with its own pulse. With a choked sob, She drops the helmet to the table where it clatters, adding more chaos to the world outside of Her. The leather of Her gauntlets feel strange, alien against the skin of Her face, through Her hair. She holds Her head and truly fears it may shake free from Her shoulders. A part of Her wishes it would, if only to be free of the visions, the confusion, the clatter in Her mind.

Her face, shadowed, distorted, twisted in the reflection of the helmet, which now lies on the floor. She blinks at it, tears in Her eyes. Meridian pulses again, in time with the acceleration of Her heart, with the roil of thunder, of the waves of the sea. Her breathing becomes shallow and ragged, an animal's panting.

The reflection stares back, pale, from a thousand moments, from somewhere, but never instants She can remember as Her own. But whose are these? Whose memories? Whose?

_Who am I?_

Lightning, a crash of thunder, Meridian is in Her hand and passes effortlessly through the air. There are sparks and a crash and then the hum of blood and breathing in Her ears. After several moments, She opens Her eyes.

Her helm lays ruined, cleaved in two upon the floor. The force of the blow has clouded the silver with black scorch marks. In places the metal has bubbled, distressed by the power.

With a deep breath, She straightens. Soon, Meridian has returned to its scabbard. Soon, the rest of Her vestments have been prepared. Soon, she is ready.

Feeling the wind whip through Her hair, the first droplets of rain on Her skin, She becomes anxious to begin Her mission, to be within the walls of city.

She is already miles away as the storm hits the coast around Anxur with its full howling, crashing force, on its dark path toward Rome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was my favorite chapter to write in the whole thing. I think a lot of that was that writing the different scenes -- despite having been outlined for months -- was full of fun surprises. Gabrielle dwelling on her sadness evolved into a longer, flowing passage done in first person, which changed it and made it a lot more fun to write -- and featured a connection to the To Rest stories, too! Eve's dream, was much different originally -- it started as a premonition of one event but changed into the fever dream it did. That was the template for the rest of things. A lot of scenes that were just: 'Gabrielle at mansion; feels sad' and got worked into something more substantial and rewarding to write. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.


	7. Darkness Visible

Choking, arid heat and haze spread like a pale sheet over everything. In crowds, breath was stolen; faces were slicked with sweat, sad eyes drifted unfocused and lips cracked from thirst. People moved listlessly, hoping to complete the day's tasks quickly before seeking shade and sleep.

The blaze of noon was only amplifying the stomach-churning odor--an enigmatic mix of human sweat, animal waste and clotting blood--of the Boarium. Mira turned up her nose as she followed Gabrielle's cloaked form through the bustle of buyers moving through the livestock and meat market. "Gods," she choked. Chickens squawked and took to the air in a trail of ivory feathers, while a fowl merchant cursed in some strange dialect. Disembodied squeals of pigs sliced through the air. Hagglers parlayed and bargained over the price of caged quail or sparrows. Children and their grandparents enjoyed snacks of the ubiquitous meat-on-a-stick. "No accounting for taste," Mira mumbled to herself.

Gabrielle led them south off the Quirinal and through the western edges of the Forum to the more ramshackle and ragged set-up of the animal markets. Mira was impressed by how quickly they had managed to make their way here, given the crowds, the various inconveniences, and dangers presented by the current state of emergency. The warrior had a focus and intensity--catching nuances of the crowds, navigating past patrols and checkpoints, moving with a determination and skill that girl had never seen her use before.

However, this wasn't what the girl found most strange about it all. Mira thought she noticed a change in the warrior's gaze, her stance, the rhythm of her pace. There was a quality there, that wasn't present before. If Mira didn't know better, she would say that Gabrielle was enjoying all of this.

Soon, there was a break in the chaotic assembly of stands, carts, tables and pens, and a dirt-covered square of sorts opened up. Crowds still passed through on various errands, but some buyers gathered and conversed, or rested on boxes and crude benches. Gabrielle stopped, indicating that Mira fall in with her by an upturned, empty barrel. The warrior peaked out from beneath her red cloak, eyes wide and alert. "We're here," she said.

Mira looked around, letting the surroundings reveal themselves. She leaned on the barrel, nonchalantly watching the crowds and trying to find the bar. At the edges of this square were several low, squat buildings, with staircases leading down into darkness. Above one of these, she could see the sign reading: 'Orion's Belt.' A man was propped beside the entrance who was either drunk or beaten senseless.

"Charming place." Mira smirked.

Gabrielle grabbed the girl's shoulder. "When we go in there don't make eye contact with anyone; don't talk to anyone; don't order a drink. Just find a quiet table and watch my back." The warrior glared at her. "Understand?"

Mira had a sardonic response ready, but decided to save it. "No staring, no talking, no drinking--just watching. Got it," she said.

"Stay where I can see you. If you notice anyone who might give you trouble, give me a signal."

"Okay."

"There can't be any mistakes in there, understand? We need to get this right the first time, okay?"

"No problem." Mira smiled. "I got it."

Gabrielle stiffened. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

Mira grinned. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Gabrielle crossed her arms and scowled.

"You are!" the girl laughed. "You're totally enjoying this."

"Are you finished?"

Mira cleared her throat. "Quite."

Gabrielle pulled Mira's hood up, covering the girl's head. "Let's go."

The warrior led the way through the crowds and across the square. As they approached the bar, Mira noted the various stains and debris around its doorway, some identifiable, others not so much. A scorpion, recently slain, lay curled near the doorway, skewered by a stick that once held someone's snack. Mira heard the unconscious man snort and pass gas in slumber. She rolled her eyes as she moved down the stairs into the sour smelling dark. "Definitely a charming place," she muttered.

***

The cart wobbled to a halt in a quieter section of the square and Eve and Analea stepped off the back of it. Hitching a ride on one of Gallus' carts seemed like the quickest and easiest way to get west of the Quirinal, the wall, and hence closer to their destination. Looking at the crowds clogging the streets around them, Eve wasn't so sure anymore.

Eve walked around to the front of the vehicle and smiled at Abito, their driver. "Thank you, my friend."

The man returned the smile, but still looked concerned. "Should I wait for you?"

Eve shook her head. "We'll be fine on our own."

"Go with the Gods, mistress." Giving her a last, reluctant glance, he urged his donkeys forward, returning to the flow of traffic.

They stood in a crude, little square near the Arch of Claudius, lined with shops and restaurants that served hearty meals to working men. Odors of their gruel and offal lunches wafted through the slow air. A couple of nearby buildings provided a welcome shade that pedestrians took advantage of, sitting on the ground and breaking bread. People walked through on their way from or to the Forum, which Eve knew lay almost a mile to the southeast. She turned to Analea, who stood peering about nervously. "Do you know where we need to go?"

Analea nodded. "I think so." She moved off into the crowd with Eve following closely behind.

Save for the odd flash of Imperial decadence, the neighborhood they moved through was far less opulent than the streets near the city's heart. Squat residences sat thin and crowded against each other. Several families inhabited each home, sharing cooking space and access to water. Men chatted solemnly on doorsteps, or leaned silent from windows. As they walked by, Eve noticed many of the dour-faced men following them with their eyes, suspicion flavoring their gaze.

When Analea led them through a covered alley between main streets, Eve stopped her. She smiled. "I think, perhaps, a disguise is in order." She pulled her robes over her head, her face, and stooped over. She indicated that Analea do the same. "Pretend you're a leper. Cover your hands." The girl did as she asked. "Good. We shouldn't have too many people eager to trouble us like this."

They continued along, hobbling in this manner to the west. After a short time, they passed through the Praetorian checkpoint near the Pantheon. The crowds let them move to the front without complaint, the guards waving them through without questions. Everyone covered their faces and prayed to the Gods.

On the other side of the checkpoint, Eve could see why there was no difficulty with the soldiers. Looking out over the slight depression leading down to the bend in the river, she could see the smoke-covered slums of Rome--their destination. Analea looked to her. Eve nodded and they continued on.

Within minutes, they had reached the heart of the slums, passing beneath the four- and five-storied tenements pushed up almost over the street, hulking over the narrow avenues. The buildings were run down and covered in soot and dirt. The streets were busy, all manner of people--of every race it seemed--walked or stood haphazardly along the filthy thoroughfares. Women, some breast-feeding, talked in small groups and scowled at various passersby, while their husbands gambled with each other nearby. Children ran everywhere, covered in filth and without clothes, laughing and crying. A man sat desolately against a building, his legs pushed out before him ending in black and swollen feet. Prostitutes leered at pedestrians or fought each other, the battles ending in loud uproars of crying and spit blood. The afternoon heat was life stealing here and some people were already succumbing to its draining effect, lying in the dirty streets or hanging listlessly out of windows. Everywhere lay the sick--moaning, lost in shallow slumber, ransacked by children or rats, or accosted by the wild dogs.

Eve passed wide-eyed through it all. Even though she had grown up less than a mile from this spot, she had never ventured here; she had heard of the desolation of the Roman slums, but had never witnessed it firsthand, until now. She sighed, feeling the weight of this slide upon her, the weak parts of her shuddering.

_When will the work be done?_

She knew the answer. They continued through the wretched throng, who gave them a wide berth, when they could.

Soon, Analea led them to a field where the poorest of the poor had taken refuge. Tents and mean little shacks competed for any spot of land that was available. Families of up to eight people lived in space equipped for perhaps three. Cooking fires spread nauseating heat and smells to the winds. Everywhere Eve passed her gaze, the eyes of the destitute met it.

Their destination lay beyond the field. A clutch of buildings leaned close to one another, creating a shaded alleyway. Children scattered from the two shrouded women when they approached. Analea led them further into the shade. "It's just over here," she whispered over her shoulder.

The journey came to a halt in a dark, garbage-strewn section of the alley. Analea pointed to a rusted sewer grate. "Here it is," she said reaching for the cover. With a gritty moan, the grate came free leaving a yawning hole into darkness and stairs.

Eve's eyes widened. _Just like the dream..._

Analea, mistaking the reaction, nodded. "The real sewer grate is further that way." She pointed down the alley. "We had this fake one built to make things easier." She took tinder and a torch she had hidden in her robes and prepared it.

Eve stood near the mouth of the staircase, looked to the buildings around her. It was all as she had dreamt. Her stomach knotted with tension.

The girl got the torch lit, turning to Eve. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said. As they moved down the stairs into the damp of the sewers, Eve wished she had been telling the truth.

***

It was dark and stuffy inside the bar. Mira waited for her eyes to adjust before venturing any further down the staircase. She scowled as her nose was immediately assaulted with a chaotic spectrum of odors--the sour reek of spilt wine, the tempting musk of spiced mutton, an earthy array of body aromas. It was far noisier than the street they left behind, as well. Loud voices and the clamor of drinking could be heard from almost every direction.

Slowly, Mira's vision adjusted. The staircase descended into a large room that seemed to be the hub of 'Orion's Belt.' A long bar ran down one side and a crowd of about sixty rowdy patrons filled the rest.

Two barmaids moved expertly through the throng, carrying cups of wine on weathered wooden trays, placed there by the beefy and bitter-looking man behind the bar. The room was lit by stubby torches smudging greasy light over the various undesirables rubbing and bending elbows. There were entrances to two other rooms--possibly filled with more drinkers, shaded in obscurity. To Mira's relief, none of the shifty looking customers seemed to have noticed her yet.

She took another step, trying to focus on the contents of the other chambers. To the girl's embarrassment--and thus, horror--she slipped and stumbled slightly off the step, pitching awkwardly to the side. Thankfully her reflexes helped her regain balance--and some of her composure. Again, no one seemed to notice.

Finally, Mira's eyes adjusted to the light. Gabrielle scowled at her from beneath her hood. "Will you be careful?"

"Sorry," Mira whispered, sheepishly.

The warrior looked around the bar. She indicated a doorway to the room off to Mira's right. "Wait in there."

"Okay."

As the girl moved to go, Gabrielle caught her by the wrist. She grinned wryly. "Try and stay out of trouble, huh?"

Feeling a little better, Mira winked. "I'll see what I can do."

The room was dim and much less busy than the bar. What little light there was came from formless tallow candles pressed onto the eight tables spread throughout the muted chamber. A door near the end of the space led to another room, presumably the other drinking room Mira had seen from the bottom of the stairs. Along two of the walls were long wooden benches. Mira took a seat on one, allowing herself as much of a view of the main room as possible.

In the opposite corner a trio of men sat huddled around a table, drinking quietly. The candle on their table was out and their faces were obscured by shadow. After a short appraisal, Mira decided they were suspicious but not yet a threat.

Across from her sat a lone man. His attention was fixed on someone in the bar, and he was practically leaned out the arched windows to the room in an attempt to get a better view.

_Maybe he wants to order a drink?_

The man wore a leather vest with no shirt under it, just a bunch of odd necklaces and medallions and his face was scruffy, matching his uncombed and long hair. He appeared to be a large and well-built man as well, which made him a potential threat, but also attractive to Mira--in that dangerous kind of way she sometimes liked. The stuffiness of the place began to get to her. She absently removed her hood.

While admiring one of the man's biceps, Mira noticed a tattoo of some sort. She squinted, trying to get a better look but it was too small to make out clearly--just a blotch of black in the dim light. The man's attention continued to be fixed squarely upon something or someone in the main room.

_What's he so interested in?_

Mira followed his gaze as best as she could from across the room. The customers at the bar were hard to make out from where she was; they swayed and moved about in various forms of drunkenness and bluster. Concentrating--and rising off the bench slightly--she pinpointed the man's fixation. A tall, mustached man stood shaking his head at someone--the person the stranger seemed to be fascinated by--a shorter individual in a red cloak: Gabrielle. As the warrior, broke off her conversation and moved further into the bar, the stranger rose, put on a jacket and moved in Gabrielle's direction.

_Uh oh…_

For a second, Mira didn't know what to do. Gabrielle had told her to stay out of trouble. She couldn't just run out into the bar and stop that guy, could she? That would definitely qualify as 'getting into' trouble versus 'staying out of' it. She sighed and slumped back onto the bench.

Then again, Gabrielle had also told Mira to stay where she could see her, and if she noticed anyone who might be trouble, to give the warrior a signal. That guy definitely qualified as someone who might be trouble, and at the moment, Mira was not in sight of the warrior, making it impossible to give her any sort of signal. Mira had to head into the other room--she had no choice, it seemed. She rose off the bench.

Someone grabbed her wrist, squeezing it in meaty fingers.

"Now, where is it yer going in such a tizzy, little lamb?" The voice was a somehow familiar one.

Mira turned to her right. The three men who had been sitting in the corner were now surrounding her. One of them--the biggest one--stood leering, her wrist in his hand. This wasn't good. As Mira looked closer at them, she noticed they were each in various states of bruising and swelling--black eyes, fat lips, goose-eggs, all about a week old by her guess--were the order of the day it seemed. The tall lanky one grinned with a dumb chuckle.

Suddenly, Mira figured it out. "Woah, you're those clowns from the forest." Her mouth hung open.

"None other." The older, stinkier one--the leader--grinned his slightly-less-toothy grin. "Some folks say there's no greater day than the one when old scores is settled."

Mira played along, nodding. "That's uh…that's pretty darn interesting."

"Where's your friend? Hmm?"

"Uh…she's here somewhere…" Mira swallowed. "A-and…she's coming right back, too. Any minute now."

"Damned amazing we'd run into you again, little lamb…damned amazing. And here of all places." He grinned.

"Let me hit her first, Morvan," the lanky one lisped.

"No. Me," the big one mumbled through broken teeth. "I'm closer." Although, through the shattered teeth it sounded more like: "Mmo. Mmee. Mmom mmloser."

The leader looked angrily at the two men. "Why, so's ya can muck it all up like last time?"

"H-hey…uh…why don't ya just let me go?" Mira suggested with a feeble shrug. "I mean, if…if it's gonna cause all this trouble between you guys…y'know?"

Morvan shook his head. "Oh, I don't think so."

"Yeah," said the big oaf holding her wrist. "You ain't going nowhere."

"For once in his stinkin' life, Andros is right." Morvan grinned. "Now...shall we pick up from where we left off, before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"You heard her," a voice said from behind them.

Before any of the brigands could turn around, there was a quick swoop of air and a loud and sickening thud. There, sunk through the two bones in Andros' forearm and on into the table was the tail-end of a sai -- Gabrielle's sai. The big man let go of Mira even before he could roar in pain. The other two could only stare and blink at their associate's arm now stuck to the table; at the impressive weapon; at the rush of blood beginning to flow.

"She said: _let go._" The warrior stood just behind the large man, hood pulled back.

Morvan growled. "You, again."

The lanky one took a wide swing at the warrior, which she easily ducked. She carried the evasion lower than needed, removing the second sai from her boot. Rising quickly, Gabrielle spun the blade around facing its weighty pommel out. With blinding speed and accuracy, she jabbed the blunt edge into the man's gut, doubling him up. Finishing in an attacking stance, the warrior struck an incapacitating blow to the back of the man's neck, sending him unconscious to the floor.

Gabrielle flashed a feral grin. "That's the same mistake he made last time."

Morvan's eyes darted about with an all-too-familiar desperation. He made a grab for Mira, who had still been looking with shock at the blade sticking out of the big man's arm. Snapping out of her daze, the girl side-stepped Morvan's lunge and kicked him swiftly in the chest. He skidded backward into a table.

Impressed with herself, Mira let her guard down. With his free arm, Andros grabbed her and started to pull her close.

"Hold her still," Morvan said as he approached, fist at the ready.

Mira resisted Andros as best as she could but couldn't break free, and the leader was coming in swinging. Then she remembered the sai stuck in the table, in the arm. Wincing, she pushed at the blade causing the big man to cry out and release his grip. "Sorry," she called as she dodged out of the way of Morvan's punch--a punch that landed squarely in the midst of Andros' face.

"Of all the luck," Morvan exclaimed in frustration.

Gabrielle now moved to finish off the leader, lunging in quick just behind the dazed Andros. Morvan jabbed at the warrior, who easily blocked using her sai. With a shove, she knocked the leader off balance and to the side, where he slumped over a chair.

Andros, shaking off the punch, started to grab at the blade embedded in his arm. Gabrielle reached over and slammed her fist down on his hand--and thus, the sai--causing him to howl in pain.

"Stop doing that," he whined with a woozy quality, which sounded all the more pathetic through the broken teeth.

"Yeah," Mira said, somewhat sickened by the whole thing. "Stop, Gabrielle." She looked apologetically at the behemoth. "I don't know what's got into her."

Morvan regained his balance and attacked again, this time holding a chair high above his head. Gabrielle looked to Mira. "Okay, I'll stop," she said. With a spin, she kicked Morvan in the stomach staggering him back slightly, while she simultaneously reached over and wrenched the sai from out of the table, and, much to his anguish, Andros' arm.

As the big man screamed girlishly, the warrior fell upon Morvan, who had dropped the chair behind him while stumbling back. With three quick jabs, Gabrielle had knocked him unconscious. She turned, spinning both her sai skillfully--a wicked grin on her face. She moved toward Andros who stared dumbly at the bleeding hole in his arm.

Mira noticed a crowd of men moving angrily toward the room. In their hands they carried a wide and harmful looking assortment of objects. She half-turned to the warrior. "Uh, Gabrielle…"

Suddenly, Andros slammed hard onto the table beside her, shattering it beneath him as he slipped--thankfully perhaps--into unconsciousness. Mira screamed in surprise, then scowled back at the warrior. "Hey, watch what you're doin'."

"Sorry." Gabrielle shrugged in apology. She could barely keep a grin off of her face.

"Having fun?" Mira asked.

"A lot." The warrior twirled her sais before smoothly sheathing them.

"Then you're gonna love this…" Mira motioned beyond the door as she moved in behind Gabrielle.

The angry crowd mulled about the door, yelling at the two friends. A man at the head of the crowd motioned to them. "You can't just come in here and start busting heads like that," he said. "This is a friendly establishment."

"These men are our friends," Gabrielle said dryly.

"Well you're gonna have to leave," the man said. This seemed to get the crowd riled up and shouts of "Yeah!" and "Leave!" started to ring out. The man grinned. "And for troublemakers, there's only one way out of here..."

"Ho boy," Mira sighed.

The crowd began advancing toward them. Gabrielle discarded her robe, letting it drop to the floor behind her where it covered the dozing face of Morvan. She looked to Mira. "Follow my lead."

"Wha?"

There wasn't time for questions as the warrior launched the chakram at the doorframe where it rebounded across the front of the advancing mob, startling them enough to hold their charge for a moment. Catching the returning blade, Gabrielle spun toward the door behind them. "Go, go," she said as she started to run through.

"Ho boy," Mira sighed again as she followed her friend into the room next door.

As they entered, the girl could see that the room was similar in size to the room they had been in, but this one had intimate booths rather than tables as furnishings. This was a blessing of sorts, as the lack of chairs and tables allowed for easy movement through the chamber. Although, it also allowed the crowd, with numbers large enough to enter the former room and still block the exit of this room as well, easy access to Mira and the warrior. The men began to adjust, and set their sights on the duo once again.

"What do we do now?" Mira yelled.

Behind the shifting crowd, out beyond the bar, Mira caught a glimpse of the man, the stranger from before. He stood waving to the two friends from the beginning of some kind of hall. "Gabrielle--"

"I see him." Quickly, Gabrielle broke into a run and appeared to be charging right for the mob. "Just keep running and follow my lead," she called to Mira. Again the warrior hurled the chakram at the doorframe where it cut the startled crowd back and out of the room with its rebound. However, instead of stopping as before, Gabrielle caught the weapon and continued to barrel at the men.

Mira, despite her best instincts, kept running full tilt as well. A soft "Ho boy," escaped from her nonetheless.

The warrior crossed the room in five powerful strides, leaping out through the door and at the men in the front of the crowd. With ease, she scaled their bodies, climbing up onto and across shoulders, heads and surprised faces until she had used the throng as a bridge to the surface of the bar.

Gabrielle's charge had left the crowd in such a state of disarray that Mira's way had been made easier for it, the men crouched or doubled over in surprise or pain or both. With growing confidence and excitement, she followed her friend across the same strange and inspired path to the bar.

Men grabbed at their feet, threw bottles and glass at them. Gabrielle kicked a man in the face, making her way toward the back door. A barmaid got hold of Mira's ankle, trying to pull her into the mass of angry men. The warrior, seeing this, quickly stepped on a nearby wine-skin, spraying its contents in a disabling jet into the woman's face allowing Mira to escape.

The sound of bells could be heard, ringing in from outside the bar. Men in the crowd became momentarily confused. "Praetorians," they cried. "They'll swarm the place." All out panic soon descended on them, causing a mass scattering.

"Go," Gabrielle yelled at Mira.

They quickly leapt off the bar toward the stranger, and the hall he stood in. Turning down the dark corridor, he yelled over his shoulder. "Follow me." The trio bolted down the hall past several doors, the commotion behind them growing as people scrambled to leave the bar. Mira squinted. "Why don't they follow us?"

The man called back over his shoulder. "They think it's a dead end."

"Is it?" the girl asked, a little worried.

Coming to the end of the hall, the stranger put his shoulder to an old, but still functional door, which slid open, revealing a shaded alleyway. The man smiled roguishly at Mira, causing her to blush a little. "You tell me," he said.

Gabrielle turned to him. "Thank you," she said and prepared to go.

"Wait a second," the stranger said. "I heard you in there before, asking for someone with experience dealing with the Empire."

"It's not polite to eavesdrop on private conversations." Gabrielle scowled at him.

The stranger smiled. "Nor is it to stab a man through his arm."

The bells still rang in the streets, and the commotion in the bar was showing no signs of stopping. Mira looked about nervously. "Uh...if we can continue this somewhere else..."

The warrior crossed her arms. "Get to the point."

The stranger straightened. "I have extensive experience dealing with the Empire and, as you can see, have suffered little for it. I would be willing to help you achieve your goals--" he paused, "--for a small fee, of course."

"Of course." Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

Mira scowled. "How can we trust you?"

"Oh, my dear girl, you can't." The man chuckled. "But if trust were an essential requirement to your task, I would think you might have tried a more respectable establishment, yes?" He grinned.

Mira turned up her face in a mocking impression of the grin--it covered up the blush that spread over her skin.

It became obvious from the sounds emanating from the front of 'Orion's Belt' that the Praetorians were arriving. Gabrielle pushed on the door. "Fine, you're hired. I'm...Lila and this is Sarah."

Mira didn't miss a beat. "Hello."

The stranger looked both directions down the alley. "Quintus Flavius Narses," he said. "But Narses will do." He indicated the alley. "Shall we?"

Gabrielle stepped out, followed by Mira. Narses shut the door after them and began heading down the alley, taking it north.

Mira looked to the warrior. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Gabrielle winked and moved down the alley. Sighing, Mira followed, hoping that the sounds of the Praetorians and their chariots came no closer.

***

There was really no occasion that the Emperor Nero didn't enjoy more in the nude--but of them all, knife-fighting would be his favorite. The olive oil slick and warm against the skin; the blade in hand, an extension of the body; circling, ever circling your opponent in fingers of firelight as if before the creation of the world, and the pigs that walked its surface. To the death or to the first cut, it was all the same in its primal charm to him, ever since he first held a knife between his fingers, long ago.

Here, now, he circled his adversary, a big slave from Egypt. The man's ebon skin was in stark contrast to the Emperor's own pale form. Both were shinning with oil, torches glaring off of their smoothed muscles.

Several Praetors and members of the German guard stood intently watching the contest. To Nero's disappointment, the match was to the first cut, but he still felt the familiar rush through him with none of its intensity diminished--a glorious nausea spilling over his body. While his opponent outweighed him by close to one-hundred libra, any advantages won in the bout had been the Emperor's, whose skill in this fighting form no one could deny. Some among the soldiers would note the Emperor's careless waste of several openings on the slave's left flank, but the keen-eyed among them knew Nero had seen the breaches and chose to ignore them, his lust not yet satisfied.

The slave lunged forward, feinting, then with a daring twist of his torso, swung his large arm down in an overhand attack with his empty fist. With a swift front roll, the Emperor dodged the punch, spinning to his feet and deftly attacking low with a wide slice of his blade.

Blocking desperately, the slave brought his knife to counter. Using his opponent's weapon as a leverage point, Nero adjusted his footing and lunged forward with a strong stab for the man's upper groin. Yelling in fear, the big slave shoved the Emperor's shoulder, pushing him away and into a spin.

Nero laughed, shifting his balance, twisting into a graceful leap and landing back where he had started the exchange, never missing a stride. As the soldiers whooped and clapped their appreciation, the two opponents continued to circle.

"Well done." The Emperor nodded. "Now, there's one place you're going to want to protect, isn't that right?" he asked the crowd, who laughed heartily. Even the slave cracked an uncomfortable smile.

As they prepared to engage once again, Octavia calmly broke through the crowd, making herself known to the Emperor. She wore a stern look and signaled to Nero that he should stop, at least for a moment.

Sighing, Nero raised his hand. "A moment, friends." He smiled. "It seems that pesky Empire I run has need of me."

Amid disappointed cries, Octavia approached the nude and oily Emperor. She handed him a scroll. He smiled in resignation. "Another disappointing little bit of paper, my dear?"

"Indeed, Caesar," the bodyguard intoned. "General Gracchus reports a difficulty with supply lines has waylaid the Ostian legions by two days, perhaps three." She shook her head. "This may prove a fatal problem when defending the city."

Nero's face hardened. "I see," he said simply. Looking at her, he nodded. "We'll talk after."

Turning, the Emperor moved back into the circle of men, standing before the slave again. His eyes flat and cold now, he motioned for the man to continue with a simple, confident wave of his hand.

They circled each other. Once. Twice. The slave moved in with a high attack, hoping to use his size to overwhelm the compact Emperor. Nero simply moved into the attack, removing all its effectiveness and leaving the slave wide open. With a two-handed, upward thrust, he passed the blade effortlessly through the man's neck.

The slave's face became ashen, slack with surprise. Slowly his hand moved to his neck, where a fierce gout of blood, then another, sprayed from him. Within seconds he fell to the floor and soon was dead.

Nero pulled a robe over his shoulders as he left the circle of silent men. "I guess it's as they say," he mused without mirth. "The first cut _is_ the deepest."

***

Crows call out to Her from high in the Roman pines. They beat black wings, wring black claws through the dry nettles, clack their beaks with eyes fixed on the slow moving form that wanders below. Some take flight, gliding down to lower branches, to closer trees, hoping for a better glimpse of the strange woman walking aimlessly through the cemetery.

Why has She stopped here under the sad and thirsty pines? In the uncertain blue light? Among the still graves like shadows slowly shrugging free their form?

Her resolve, Her purpose had been clear as She entered the city, taking to its rooftops and slowly traversing the incline of the Aventine. Over the houses, the gentle tenements, the gardens and shops, the squares with their sleeping fountains--and all of it passing white and plain below without a trouble to Her.

Until…

There had been no conscious decision to stop here, no fancy or phantom. She cannot recall coming to a halt, just the voices of crows, the graves and crypts slouched against the hills, the shadows of cypresses and tall pines.

And then the visions, a slowly unraveling thread pulled black and cold from every quadrant in Her breast. Faces, the nameless, frightened faces, cut down, burnt alive, trampled underfoot. The bodies stacked ravaged torso to ravaged torso, slick with ichor and swollen with rot. Carrion birds in the mornings, the corpse fires, the wet cries of the dying.

Then suddenly, the images passed from vision to memory. She had lived these somehow, somewhere. She knew that now. But when? As whom?

The soft breeze pushes Her dark locks across Her eyes. She brushes the hair aside, sighing.

The graves are silent at Her feet. Kneeling, She glances over the names carved into the stones. Her thoughts blow into ragged disarray, like fallen leaves in autumn's bluster. Of those interned here, who had lived a truly just life? A still and silent life? A life free of tragedy, of pathos? Who were these people? Did they even know? How did they expire? Were they truly at rest?

_It is raining in Amphipolis._

_The significance will not be lost on her, my Gabrielle. It will press upon her heart that each moment grows harder--too hard--in the sweet cage of her chest. I've seen it set there for days. It is visible now when I look back to watch her follow through the tall trees, the rain._

_I wish I could cry for her, but tears are substance and no longer mine to shed. Instead I have an ache, narrow as a road, begun long ago and leading us to this place._

_The graves, some of friends, of families I have known, look harder in the rain, stand taller, more defined, forcing us to take notice of them, of their purpose. Here lies Calicles, the farmer that once gave Lyceus and I rides on his half-blind donkey. There, Denera, my best friend as a child who drowned in a flood when she was eight. These are doors all opening onto the same place._

_I glance behind me. She is pale in the rain. Pale hair. Pale skin. A pool kissed in moonlight. But her hair should be golden wheat blowing proudly in the wind, soft on the flesh of my shoulder or thighs. And her skin is meant to be Thracian bronze beneath my lips, my fingers, my tongue._

_And once again, none of this seems right or fair. And once again, there is absolutely nothing we can do._

_My family crypt--the resting place of Lyceus, of poor Toris, of mother… There is no place for me, like I was never a part of this family._

_Or maybe no one thought I would die…_

_Disappointed them again, it seems._

_Gabrielle kneels, staring at the rain falling outside. She turns, green eyes sad, lost in the torchlight. Her lips move. I place a finger there but never touch them. A tear wells up, clinging to her soft eyelids. I smile and look out at the rain falling in heavy drops, in streams. My voice is soft, like an echo._

_\--Those are my tears…_

_She weeps and it is as if we have returned to a place together, made a circle of our own. Her sobs are like the sobs I heard sometimes in the dark, when she thought I was asleep, the sobs for her parents, for her sister, for Potedeia. The sobs of a young farm girl._

_The time comes, the rites are performed, the urn is left in its place. All is silent save for the rush of rain through the trees or falling to earth or stone. Her eyes are the last things I will ever see._

_It is a good death…_

A crow cackles somewhere nearby and Her eyes open. She notices a family enter the cemetery and draws Her cloak, hiding the weapons. The people--a man, a woman, a child--take no notice of Her.

The small boy skips through the stones. She watches him, watches the parents. Soon they are lost behind a copse of pines.

From over the curtain of trees She feels the pulse of the city, Her purpose swelling within Her. The crow cackles again. A sigh escapes Her as She moves to leave.

***

"This is stupid," Mira whispered, unable to remain silent any longer. "Why are we just sitting around like this?"

They were halfway up the Capitoline hill and had been waiting on a set of stairs ascending to street level. Narses had led them in a widely circuitous route away from the Boarium and the Forum, then north and eventually east to their current position. Through it all, he had remained silent--never revealing where it was they were going. This in itself didn't bother Mira; it was Gabrielle's apparent compliance in it all that disturbed her.

Now they were crouching down at the top of some staircase and just watching a cluster of soldiers standing at the end of a block. "Isn't standing around more likely to catch their attention than walking by them?" Mira asked sarcastically.

Gabrielle turned to the girl and smirked. "Usually it would, but it's almost time for the change of the guard."

"So?"

"So," the warrior turned her attention back to the soldiers. "We'll be able to see if Nero has decided on a new strategy for deployment or if we can proceed as planned."

"I don't like this." Mira crossed her arms. "I don't like waiting around like this."

Narses diverted his attention from the soldiers to Mira. After a moment, he returned his gaze across the street. Gabrielle leaned back against a wall. "You know a big part of this sort of thing is waiting," she said evenly. "What's wrong with you?"

The girl slouched then cast a suspicious gaze toward Narses, motioning the warrior closer. "It's him," she whispered. "I don't trust him."

"You think I do?" Gabrielle grinned.

"No. But I don't see you stopping him from running the show."

"Maybe it's because she knows I'm right." It was Narses. He had turned around, a self-satisfied smirk smeared across his face.

"Maybe you should mind your own business," Mira growled.

Narses grinned. "I haven't made an issue of the fact that you won't let me in on just what it is you're after, have I?"

Mira laughed, gesturing to Gabrielle. "That's 'cause she threatened to nail your hand to a table if you did."

Narses stood, spreading his arms in appeal to the warrior. "If I'm just supposed to sit about and have this little mouse squeak at me, I'll just quit now if you don't mind."

"Mouse?" Mira was livid. "Mouse? I'll give you a 'mouse.'"

Gabrielle put her hand up. "Easy." She turned to Narses. "She's just concerned we may be wasting our time. A valid concern, I think."

"What is a waste of our time," Narses began, crossing his arms. "Is entertaining every little concern and whim of this…girl."

"Why I oughta…" Mira stepped with purpose toward the man, but Gabrielle got in the way. The warrior tried to calm her down. It wasn't working. "Just one punch, please, just one," the girl pleaded.

Narses grinned contemptuously at her, only enflaming Mira's ire. She thrashed about, trying to get past the warrior to the smirking man. Gabrielle, growing impatient with restraining her, growled. "Enough." Mira's mouth closed abruptly and the warrior continued at a whisper. "I need you to get control of yourself and keep quiet, okay? We can't afford to look foolish or distracted or weak in any way, so quit acting like a spoiled brat and get it together, alright?"

The girl was obviously upset, but backed down. "Alright," she said without making eye contact. She paused then spoke again. "Two things, though."

"Yes?"

Mira pointed beyond the warrior's turned back. Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder and quickly noticed the two points the girl was trying to make: the soldiers across the square were purposefully approaching; and that Narses was nowhere to be found. The warrior cursed under her breath. Taking a deep breath, she looked to Mira. "Just follow my lead."

The girl smiled wryly. "You're the boss."

Shooting the girl a look of warning that was only half-real, Gabrielle slowly turned to face the approaching group of Praetorians. The leader, a dour looking man, scowled at the two women. "You there, foreigner, are you lost?"

"No." The warrior shook her head, grinning. "No, we're just fine, actually."

The soldier did not seem satisfied. "Then where are your escorts?"

Gabrielle stiffened. "Escorts?"

Crossing his arms, the Praetorian narrowed his eyes. "Yes. Women in this district--especially foreign ones--are to be escorted by men at all times of the day during the state of emergency. So I ask you again: where is your escort?"

Just as Gabrielle was about to answer, she was interrupted by the voice of Narses who called out to them. "Dhalia, is that you?"

Approaching was Narses, though he had cloaked himself in a tattered robe and twisted his body into a crippled form. To add to the charade, he leaned wearily on a gnarled branch that served as a walking stick.

Gabrielle turned to the hunched figure and smiled. "Here is our escort, sir: my uncle Janius."

The lead soldier examined Narses carefully. "Is this true, you are the escort of these women?"

Narses squinted at the man, pausing long enough for Mira to worry, until he nodded and said: "That's right sir, they're my brother's daughters." He smiled, toothily. "From north of the Horselands, actually."

The soldier blinked oddly for a moment, then nodded. "North of the Horselands, eh? Well, that's a long way off..." He smiled at Narses. The hairs on the back of Mira's neck were standing up, but she maintained her composure. "See it that they have a safe trip." The soldiers waved them on. "Move along."

Narses bowed to the soldiers and motioned Gabrielle and Mira to follow him as he began limping across the street.

The trio carried on up the Capitoline, following Narses, who continued to plod along using his cane. "You're welcome," he said over his shoulder.

Gabrielle fell in beside him. "'North of the Horselands?'"

He chuckled. "Thrace. It's what we Romans call Thrace." Smiling broadly he added: "Or it's where we say any uncouth or coarse type is from."

Mira fell in on the other side of him. "Better watch it, she's actually from 'North of the Horselands.'"

"Oh, I had no idea." Narses turned to the warrior. "I'm sorry," he said unconvincingly.

Gabrielle appeared to ignore the subtext of the exchange. "What next? Where are we going?"

"You could tell me what it is we're attempting to do here?" Narses asked hopefully.

"Unlikely," Gabrielle said. "Do you have an extra arm somewhere that you take these two so for granted?" She flashed a dangerous grin.

Blinking nervously, Narses put up his hand in a gesture of peace. "Ah well, suit yourself," he said. "I'm taking you to see a friend."

"You didn't say anything about friends." The warrior stopped, hands on hips.

Narses, still leaning on his cane, bit his lip. "Remember when I said I could get you what you needed? Well...I can, it's just that it's another person that's going to be doing it, y'see?"

Mira sighed loudly. "Great. Just great."

Gabrielle didn't change her stance. "Explain," was all she said.

"Well...my friend Vlix, he can get what you need--for a small price, of course." Narses grinned. "So, rather than risk your own neck, why not let him get it?"

Gabrielle crossed her arms. "Because I don't want too many of you worthless scum to know what I'm doing and more importantly, because I can do the job better myself."

Mira beamed inside. Now this is a Gabrielle I can get onboard with, she thought.

Still hunching over, Narses sighed. "Perhaps you are right, my dear, and perhaps you are not." He grinned. "Vlix may not be the most intelligent, or most dexterous, or even the best man for the job, but he does have one thing you do not:" Narses winked. "A perfect forgery of an Omega-class worker's permit."

Mira twisted her face. "So?"

Gabrielle relaxed her posture somewhat. "It would allow access to almost anywhere, Mira."

Narses grinned triumphantly. "Exactly. So why not give the boy a shot at this? Hm?"

"What makes you so interested in helping someone else? You get a cut of his payment, too?" The warrior asked knowingly.

"A finder's fee." Narses nodded. "It's only fair, is it not?"

Mira knew what Gabrielle was going to say, but she didn't want to hear it.

"Okay," the warrior said. "What next?"

Narses gestured to a nearby alley. "We go to Vlix's, tell him what you need and then wait for him to get it."

Gabrielle bit her lip then nodded. "Lead the way." She shook her head. "And stop limping; I'd like to get there sometime before nightfall." She sniffed at the air. "A storm is coming…"

Narses nodded as he straightened and moved off ahead of them.

Mira fell in beside the warrior as they headed down the alley and then into a small market. "This guy is so up to something."

"I don't doubt it," Gabrielle nodded. "There's not much we can do until he makes his move, though."

"Uh, yes there is: we can ditch him and do this by ourselves," Mira said caustically.

The warrior looked to Mira with a sad glance then turned. "This is...this is less risky." She swallowed. "We'll still have time to try something direct ourselves if it goes wrong."

Mira grabbed her friend's arm. "You're not--?" Gabrielle turned, looking stern, but still sad. Mira couldn't believe what was happening. "You are..." The warrior broke free of the girl's grip and followed Narses through the marketplace and into another hazy Roman backstreet.

You're trying to protect me... The girl blinked ambivalently after them. But this is so wrong, I can feel it... You can feel it...

Shaking her head, Mira made her way through the crowds and into the hanging smog of afternoon.

***

The gloom of the catacombs weighed heavy on the stuttering torchlight, holding strong against the wall, obscuring features, details. While remembering their destination from her dream, Eve found it increasingly difficult to keep her bearings without slowing down or stopping entirely. Walls that appeared to slope one way actually curved another; passages materialized from nothingness or disappeared into the thick rock; rooms remained hidden until almost fallen into. Time and again, Eve got them back on track, though it began to wear on her patience.

As they continued, Analea watched her friend. "You mentioned that you were having strange dreams..." Her voice spiraled off into the tight echoes of the passageway.

Eve didn't take her eyes off the path. "I've always had strange dreams or visions of one kind or another," she mused. "Warnings...omens... But this..." She stopped, trying to remember for sure. "This was the first time Eli has appeared in them."

Analea stopped. "Eli?" The circles of her eyes and mouth were accentuated by the stark shadows born from the torchlight.

Eve nodded. "He died before I was born; I never knew him." She stood straight, thinking. "I've never dreamt about him either. Usually my dreams are less symbolic; they just get to the point." She smiled. "But this...this was...different." She was disappointed that there was no better way to encapsulate the sensation of the dream. She motioned for them to walk again. As they carried on, Eve shook her head. "There's a definite significance to Eli's presence--to the whole dream--but whatever it is, it's lost on me for the moment. The best I can do for now is to try and find whatever it is that's down here."

"Perhaps you need to learn something," Analea suggested. "Eli was your predecessor, after all. Maybe in the vision he represents teachings or hidden knowledge of some kind?"

Eve stopped and turned, grinning. "You're good at this," she said. "I thought of that myself. Hidden knowledge is definitely part of it all. But what knowledge?" The acolyte kept any musings regarding her friends' significance to the visions out of the discussion. She looked around them, her eyes widening. "Oh no...they've changed this part of the tunnels."

Analea brought the torch closer. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Eve said, sighing. She pointed behind them. "I remember that junction from my dreams, but the tunnel should stretch on further--instead it opens into this chamber."

Analea pointed to a large wooden beam sunk into one of the room's walls. "That beam, the others, they were definitely put in recently." The girl looked to Eve. "What should we do?"

The acolyte ran a hand through her hair. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, calming herself. After a moment, she opened her eyes. "Let's keep going."

The way became difficult. Many of the old chambers, passages had been redirected, torn down, sealed, and new ones opened up into new directions. A lot of the tunnels led to the various sewer lines and Eve and the girl had to brave the stench of slow-moving filth, or carefully traverse the steady flow of rushing water in the larger pipelines.

At one point, they were forced to hide, as a small boat carrying two men--sewer workers--passed by. Eve could hear their voices echoing over the water's lapping.

"It's your turn, Democles."

"But you said you were going to do it today."

"Wha? I did not."

"You did so."

"When?"

"At the bar last night. You said you'd give me a break and you'd do it."

"Now why would I go and say that?"

"Because I was homesick and you were just being nice, I guess. I don't know why, you just said it, that's all."

"That's ridiculous."

"Well, that's what you said, Alymachus."

There was a pause. Then: "Bah! Fine. I'll dredge the body out of there..."

Eve rolled her eyes, thankful that the boat was moving along the stream of sewage and out of earshot.

Eventually, they had found their way back to older tunnels, familiar tunnels, but still the cluster of chambers from the dream eluded Eve. Their first torch coughed out and Analea lit the next in darkness. Sparks, one strike after the other, briefly illuminating the space around them, then black. Soon, the weak glow of tinder, then the steady light of the torch. Eve blinked, her eyes adjusting to the warm orange light.

She started. Before her, stretching up into the darkness stood an old support beam. Carved into its wood, smoothed by time, was a childlike carving of a fish--the carving from her dream. She moved quickly toward it. "We're here," she said breathlessly. The acolyte followed the wall, Analea trying to keep up with her as they moved along the passage.

Eve dropped to her knees and began to feel along the earth. The dirt felt cold, packed hard beneath her fingers, the palms of her hands. Analea brought the torch closer to the ground, watching the flat and formless floor. Eve blinked down, not finding soft earth or an obvious place to dig. "I don't know where to look. It all seems--"

There was a flash of red and she was suddenly in another time, another place, another body, Eli's body. Ares was before her, sword in hand, threatening. A crowd surrounded them, she saw Gabrielle among them, face bleak with concern. Without emotion, Ares drove the sword into Eve's body, Eli's body. She felt the life drain from her, faster than she could imagine...

Another crimson flash and she was back in her own body, but in another time, another place. It was night, she was on a bridge somewhere. A Roman soldier surprised her, sword in hand, threatening. Analea screamed in the distance. Without emotion, the soldier drove the sword into Eve's body. She felt the life drain from her, faster than she could imagine, as she was thrown off the bridge toward the rushing water below...

Eve gasped as the visions ended. Her fingers sank into the earth. Analea put her hand on the acolyte's shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Eve nodded. "Help me dig."

They pushed aside the cold dirt, stopping when they uncovered something. There in the shallow hole lay a leather scroll case. Eve took it from the ground.

Analea gasped in astonishment. "Who would bury a scroll in such a place?"

Eve glanced over the simplicity of the case, its weathered skin. She met the girl's gaze in the wavering light. "Eli," was her answer.

***

_The stones are small, smooth; they pass through the water, pushing ripples out to the pond's edges in widening rings. They take the sun's light, the images of the passing clouds, the grove's trees--her reflection--and shake them into shimmering jewels that dance across the surface. I watch from where I am. It is as though her essence is revealed to me in that reflection--light, beautiful light, dancing there before my eyes. I look up from the water to her face. My chest feels full of tears, or stuffed with these gems of light, with her reflection, as I look upon her._

_\--What is it?_

_She is concerned. I smile, like a girl. She understands. Somehow, her eyes, her smile become deeper, more beautiful. It breaks my heart, pushing warm ripples out to the edges of me in widening rings._

_\--I'm so glad you brought me here, Xena..._

Her eyes open--water, dirty water is all she sees spread below Her. She gasps before realizing She has had another vision, this time as She dangles above the still Tiberus. She clutches to Her handholds beneath the bridge.

The sunlight shifts slightly as a small wisp of cloud passes across it. She sees a pale object just below the surface of the water, a face. Blinking, She sees it is a statue, submerged, gazing lidless, blank from under the shallow waves of the dirty river. Soon, She notices its hands are outstretched, beckoning. She stares at it for a time, until the cloud is stripped away from the sun and the light changes, making the river keep its secrets once more.

Slowly, carefully, She crawls along the bridge's underbelly, moving across the river. Casting Her hearing out, She finds a place on the eastern side where She can climb up to the streets without being seen. As She prepares to move through the crowds, She pulls Her cloak over Her armor and Her weapons.

Faces, leering faces look to Hers. Dirty Roman faces. She passes by them, through them, silent, tall. Some look after Her, but none say a word. Perhaps She should take to the rooftops or the alleyways, but something stays Her and She continues on through the crowds.

Music fills Her ears, echoing music. It draws Her to it. A breeze blows kicking up dust, pushing locks of hair from Her face. She passes shops, up stairs, down cramped streets until She finds its source. She moves through a doorway, through musty curtains. There are voices, raised strangely. She can hear what they are saying.

"You are the one who has terrorized the farmers and armies of this land..."

There are strange weapons lying about, gathering dust. The voices continue, echoing loudly.

"The one who is born of Ares, who shall conquer the world from horizon to horizon, sea to sea..."

There is music again, slowly rising, growing.

"You are the one who has challenged the son of Zeus, and turned his greatest friend against him..."

The drums, the drums thread and pound like a pulse. She moves toward them, closer, closer...

"You, the slayer of gods, the destroyer of nations..."

She sees light, brightening now, it is just past a thin, thin veil...

"You, the one they call warrior princess..."

Closer…

"Xena..."

She finds Herself upon a stage. Actors, unhealthy, old, stand about in ridiculous costumes, their mouths open wide, their eyes blinking in confusion first, then fear. There is a loud gasp as the audience has seen Her. She does not seem to notice. The name still rings in Her head.

She stumbles back, Her cape swinging open, revealing Her armor, Meridian. Screams begin, stampeding. Bodies, so many shadows, pass before Her eyes. She cannot hear any of it.

_Only the name..._

_Her name?_

Soon the theater is empty and She is alone on stage. On Her knees now, Her cloak wrapped about Her, head bowed, hair covering Her face...

_How alive, how beautiful you are below my body, warm, moving against me. I feel it against my tongue as it traces you, your hair in my fingers. I gaze at your swollen lips before I kiss them and then your eyes as I rise against you and make you say my name..._

_\--Xena..._

_It is her..._

She holds her head, rocking on Her knees.

_It is her...The girl...the warrior... _She must find her.

But Her mission--Her master's mission--it cannot wait. She pulls uselessly at Her hair...

_\--I'm so glad you brought me here, Xena..._

Her scream echoes powerfully through the theater, filling it with the raw breadth of its anguish.

For a time, She lays there, silent, unmoving. Only the sound of Her ragged breathing can be heard.

Then, She stands, uneasily at first, but soon shakes off Her doubt, Her sorrow. It was but a game, She realized. The end of which was now in sight. Only one obstacle lay in Her path--Her master's bidding--and this was easily completed.

And then, afterward, She could track down the warrior-woman, the girl, and exorcise Herself of the visions that plagued Her--in one way, or another.

***

A rickety cart slowly squeaked its way down the narrow servant's road cutting behind the long row of senatorial mansions just off the Forum. In the lengthening afternoon shadows, the solitude, it was easy to forget how close one was to the bustle of Rome's heart. The driver turned off of the road and guided it behind one of the larger homes. As they came to a stop, the donkeys pulling the limping wagon shook their ears at the onslaught of a swirling cloud of gnats.

Virgil looked about before lowering his hood. "You can come out now," he said toward the back of the wagon.

Gallus and Seneca poked their heads out from under piles of rags and baskets of supplies. The older man spit stray pieces of hay from his mouth. "There has to be a better way to travel about the city," he complained.

"I'm sure Nero could think of worse ones for you." Virgil laughed. "You need to remain unseen."

Gallus leapt over the side of the cart, turning to the two men. "We're lucky that he has up to this point," he said grimly. "We're lucky that checkpoint we passed through was busy enough that we were just waved on and not searched."

Virgil shrugged it off. "We have your servants' permit. That would have been enough to avoid inspection."

"Perhaps." The young senator sighed. "They keep moving the checkpoints around. It's not a good sign."

Seneca made his way, with some help from Virgil, out of the cart. He stared off into the distance to the west. "There's a good sign--at least as far as the weather is concerned." He pointed.

Across the afternoon sky a great shield of dark cloud rolled in from the west. Still miles away, the coming storm was no less imposing despite offering an impending end to the city's long and damaging drought. At the far horizon it clashed with the flat white expanse of summer sky, slowly edging closer to Rome. Virgil whistled. "That's going to be a doozey."

Gallus nodded then motioned toward the mansion. "Shall we?"

The three men moved toward the servants' entrance to the home, where they were greeted by an attractive young servant girl, clad in a scant toga. "Welcome," she said warmly, leading them into the home.

Seneca nudged Virgil as they followed the girl. "I see Darius' predilections remain unchanged?" he whispered.

Virgil smirked. "Look around."

The walls of the mansion were adorned with lush tapestries, culled from various corners of the Empire, each depicting spirited scenes of sexual congress. Statues of couples engaged in courtship and more intense expressions of affection stood on pedestals throughout the home. Several odd devices, whose uses were fairly obvious, stood on display as well. Also--Seneca took note--all Senator Darius' servants fell into the same demographic category: young, nubile, female.

"They're barely clothed," Seneca said. "He could leave something to the imagination."

"My imagination," called a rich voice from a nearby room. "Is fixed on aspects more tantalizing than wardrobe when it comes to my house maidens, dear Seneca."

"As are other parts of you, I'm sure," Seneca deadpanned.

The servant girl led them into the room. Reclining on various couches and chairs were several middle-aged and older men who Virgil recognized as senators devoted to the reinstatement of the Republic. Buzzing around these men in hushed tones were their aides. In the midst of them the corpulent Senator Darius smiled, a goblet in hand, standing over a map of Rome and the outlying countryside. Beside him stood four stern and capable looking men, garbed in the robes of Roman generals.

Darius narrowed his puffy-lidded eyes momentarily then raised his goblet, smiling. "Indeed." After sipping momentarily at his wine, Darius waved a chubby arm at the three generals. "Introductions are in order: these are Generals Otho, Galba, Antonius and Taemon."

Virgil's jaw dropped. "Taemon? Of the Italica?"

"The very same." Darius nodded.

"But the Italica is fiercely loyal to the Emperor," Gallus blurted.

"The Italica is loyal to me," General Taemon corrected as he stepped forward. "And I am loyal to Rome, Senator."

Exchanging a quick glance, Virgil and Gallus became visibly uneasy. Seneca rubbed his jaw.

Obviously titillated by the controversy and confusion he had helped create, Darius pursed his lips. "As you may or may not know, after I had acquired their services, I had the legions Britannia, Germania and Hispania march toward Rome. Taemon and the Italica were sent north by our esteemed Emperor to stop Otho, Antonius and Galba from reaching the city," he said. "The outnumbered--but not out-skilled--Italica met them before the river Padus." General Taemon nodded at the senator's compliment. Darius continued. "But in the usual prudence and tact of Roman generals, and with a bit of help from me, the three were able to come to a mutually beneficial understanding."

"Oh?" Gallus asked.

The fat senator smiled broadly. "It seems money can't buy you love, but it can get you one hell of an army." Darius giggled not unlike a chubby woman.

Seneca nodded though seemed not entirely convinced on the matter. "Four Roman legions and their generals make a formidable army indeed," he said. "That's over twenty-four thousand men--more than double the amount of Praetorian and Urban Cohorts at Nero's immediate disposal."

"Indeed." Gallus stepped forward. "But what of the legions Augusta and Claudia that are to arrive from Ostia by dawn."

Darius grinned with mischief toward the generals. "Yes, what of them, indeed…" He nodded to the battle-scarred General Otho.

"Waylaid in Ostia for at least two whole days," the General said in a loud monotone. "Difficulties with lines of supply."

Virgil blinked at the map then to the soldiers. "And how far out of the city are your armies?"

"Less than a day's march," the cold-eyed General Galba answered.

The poet and Gallus exchanged a look. Darius waved his flabby hands over the map. "Our time has come, my friends." He said then focused on Seneca. "Our time has come."

The old man crossed his arms. "Taking the city by force will not win you back the Republic of old," Seneca said evenly. "Blood and fire only breed distrust and violence."

"A speedy victory with minimal bloodshed will make us seem as liberators," Darius argued.

Gallus crossed his arms. "And how do you propose such a victory?"

"Indeed," Virgil concurred. "The Praetorian guard will fight to the last man if so ordered."

Darius smiled once more, deferring to the generals to elucidate. Taemon crossed his arms and glanced over the map of the city. "As you know, currently the Praetorian force has split into two sections: one half remaining in the fortified camp in the north of the city, the other half now stationed in the temporary headquarters at the library off of the Forum." He pointed to another section on the map. "The Urban Cohorts are mainly based in the southwest and are being used for more menial tasks." Taemon regarded the various forces within the city. "The various armies, while separate, can reinforce each other in less than a half-hour--more than enough time to prove effective.

"The key to our victory is keeping the three forces separate long enough to organize the surrender of the Praetorian camp in the north. With them goes the entire defense of the city."

Seneca blinked. "And I'm sure you'll tell us how you plan to do that?"

"With a large diversion, here." The general pointed to the area between the Forum and the Aventine hill. "It will cause the dispatch of Praetorian forces from the library and Urban Cohorts from the southwest thus scattering the city's supplemental armies long enough for us to organize an arrangement with the head of the Praetorians in the north."

Gallus seemed impressed, though still a little uneasy. "And you believe he will surrender?"

Taemon nodded. "As Senator Darius has pointed out, Roman generals are renowned for their prudence and tact. I know General Otis; he has no special love for the Emperor and will not stand outnumbered four-to-one if he has no need for it."

Virgil nodded. "And with his surrender, the entire Praetorian force becomes our allies."

"An army of twenty-four thousand becomes close to forty thousand strong," General Galba nodded.

Antonius smirked. "Even if the Urban Cohorts rallied against us, they would be outnumbered ten-to-one by the finest soldiers in the Empire."

"Rome would be ours," Darius grinned.

"I believe you are somewhat mistaken, my friend." Seneca walked slowly over to the representation of the city, pondering its lines and the pieces upon it. "According to this map, these plans, Rome would be theirs," he said, gesturing to the four generals.

A tense hush spun through the room. Many of the seated senators and their aides shifted uncomfortably, though some stared intently at the soldiers waiting for a response. Senator Darius coughed uncomfortably and shook his head at the old man. General Antonius cleared his throat to answer but Otho beat him to it.

"It is not our plan to rule Rome in place of the Emperor or the Senate," the scar-faced general said sternly. "Only to restore order."

"Under whose authority?" Gallus asked, falling in beside Seneca. "Ours?"

Otho raised his chin. "It is our mandate to do so, yes."

"You mean it's what you've been paid for," Virgil retorted with a smirk.

Otho's face reddened, a large and dangerous-looking vein throbbing along his temple. General Taemon stepped forward. "Like you, dear poet, we are honorable men who bear the safety and welfare of Rome gently upon our hearts," he said with as much diplomacy as possible. "We would only control the city as an instrument of your esteemed wisdom and will--not as usurpers."

"You see." Darius smiled, spreading his arms with a flourish. "Nothing to worry about," he mewled.

Seneca looked unsatisfied. "I disagree."

"Oh, now is not the time for your debates," Darius said waving the old man off. His bearing intensified. "We move in two days, with or without your approval."

General Taemon nodded. "Otho and Galba will hold a final strategy meeting here tomorrow to finalize the details of the operation." He looked to Gallus, to Virgil, to the old man then turned to leave with the other generals. Most of the senators rose, some left, others moved to talk with one another.

"This is a mistake," Seneca said quietly.

Virgil sighed. "Agreed."

"But one we are all doomed to be engulfed by," Gallus whispered. "No matter our feelings on the matter."

Darius approached the three men, focusing on Seneca. "Do try to make the wise choice for once, old man," he said. "If not for you or for Rome, then for your friends' sakes."

With a dangerous gleam in his eye, Virgil stepped closer to the large senator. "He only speaks what we all feel."

"Yours is not the first mind he has poisoned, poet," Darius spat caustically. "Is it, old man?"

Gallus quickly grabbed the poet, who had lunged at the senator. Virgil barred his teeth. "Your arrogance will doom everyone."

"Oh, have another drink, Virgil," said the senator, smirking contemptuously.

Virgil thrashed about violently as Gallus did his best to contain his rage. Darius turned his back and walked away. Seneca looked on sadly at the whole thing. He put his hand on Virgil's shoulder. "Let's go."

Soon they had left, to much whispers and mutterings, and stood around the run-down cart. Gallus pat one of the donkeys. "It was thanks to monomaniacs like Darius that the Republic dissolved in the first place."

Seneca nodded. "Although, it was as much the fault of idealists and dreamers like myself."

Virgil cursed under his breath. "He went too far," the poet said, looking to the old man.

"He was telling the truth." Seneca smiled sadly.

"The teacher is not responsible for the actions of the student," Gallus said.

Virgil nodded. "And a man's past is not his prison," he said.

The old man moved to the back of the cart. Gallus helped him up into it and followed behind him. Virgil raised his hood and leaped into the driver's seat.

Seneca smiled. "There are those who would argue with you both," he said. "But for my part; I hope you are right."

The cart moved along the servant's road and into the afternoon, kicking up dust and pebbles, as it headed westward toward the darkening horizon.

***

"So here we are," Mira said caustically, "Waiting around again."

The three of them--the girl, Gabrielle and Narses--were scattered throughout the stifling fourth floor domicile of Narses' friend, Vlix. The apartment was in a rundown five-storey tenement in the Trans Tiber, one of the rougher sections in the north of the city.

They had met the strange Gaul, who immediately made Mira feel uncomfortable with his suggestive and tooth-deficient leer, and explained what it was they needed of him. Narses had tried to keep his interest in what the warrior and the girl were planning as understated as possible, but the gloating sneer that smudged his face made his feelings quite clear.

Mira had scowled at that. "Looks like a cat with a fish's tail hanging between his lips," she had whispered to Gabrielle.

Vlix had explained that he would need about three hours to procure the passwords stressing as well as he could how treacherous his task would be. Gabrielle had assured him he would be paid for his troubles and did her best to explain that he should not take any unnecessary risks; knowing his capture would likely mean theirs eventually as well. The Gaul had made it pretty clear how flexible his ethics were, especially in relation to money or physical discomfort.

He had now been gone for three and a half hours and the three of them were beginning to worry, and for Mira, worry manifested as anger.

Gabrielle pushed a strand of straw-colored hair from furrowed brows. She fell in beside a window and squinted out, remaining obscured from any unwanted observers. Her eyes scanned several points along the street, over nearby buildings or behind windows. She followed the rise and descend of a nearby series of scaffolds to the large construction project sitting at the end of the block, before she turned her head back to her friend. "Sit tight," she said without emotion.

"That creep is late," Mira whispered, looking toward the hallway as she got up and moved to the warrior's side. "It's at least a candle-mark later than he said he would be."

"It's hard to get anywhere quickly out there," Gabrielle said. "He might be held up at one of those checkpoints."

Mira shook her head. "Or maybe he's already caught and spilling his guts out to a tent full of Praetorians who are on their way right now."

The warrior tilted her head to look outside, a smile upon her lips. "Maybe."

"Don't joke," the girl whispered angrily. "For all we know, Narses and his buddy could be totally selling us out to the Romans as we speak." Mira ran her hand through her hair. "I can't believe you're putting our fate in the hands of these...thieves."

Gabrielle leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "Some of my best friends have been--and are--thieves," she said, narrowing her eyes at the girl.

"Ha. Ha," Mira said without mirth. "I'm serious. This is a bad idea."

The warrior shut her eyes for a moment then turned to look outside again. She sighed. "I'm starting to think you're right."

Mira moved closer. "What should we do?"

Gabrielle closed the shutters. "We'll give Vlix another half a candle-mark, then we'll go out on our own."

Mira smiled with satisfaction. "Good."

"What is?" It was Narses, he entered the room holding a large tray upon which was a small feast of cheese, olives, fruit, nuts, bread and some water and wine. He grinned. "I thought you might be hungry."

Mira scowled. "Such the perfect host," she drawled accompanying it with an eye-roll.

He placed the tray upon a table and grinned. "It's easy when it's not your home or food," he chuckled. "Please." He indicated the tray. "Help yourself."

The warrior and the girl looked from the food to Narses, both crossing their arms. He feigned hurt. "Oh come now," he said and reached for an olive. With a wink, he popped it into his mouth.

Gabrielle walked over to the tray and gathered some food and water. Mira remained with arms crossed. "He only ate an olive, you know," she said.

The warrior smiled. "We should be okay," she said. "He knows we don't have any money on us."

Narses laughed. "Also, Vlix doesn't seem to keep anything around the house that is the least bit lethal."

"How lucky for us," Mira said scowling.

Gabrielle sipped at her water. As she placed her empty cup on the table, she gave a quick tilt of her head. Suddenly, the warrior shot to her feet. "Open the door," she ordered Narses.

The thief looked confused but moved to the door and opened it. He gasped in surprise as Gabrielle moved him out of the way. Lying in the hall desperately trying to stand was Vlix, two arrows embedded in his back. The warrior crouched, giving a quick scan down the hallway as she lifted the gravely injured man to his feet and into the room. "Clear off the table," she yelled at Narses, kicking the door closed. "Mira, watch the street."

Gabrielle gingerly placed the injured man on his stomach after Narses had removed the food. She started to tear away his shirt and immediately saw the extent of his injuries--both bolts were mortal injuries. She looked to Narses and shook her head. The thief had an ambivalent look on his face but then crouched closer. "H-he's saying something," he said in a hoarse whisper.

"What is it?" Gabrielle said leaning closer. "Did you get the passwords?"

"Th-they're…coming…" he hacked.

The warrior looked to the window in time to see Mira turn with a fearful look. The girl nodded when she realized Gabrielle knew what she had seen. "At least twenty," she said.

"Get to the roof," Gabrielle ordered the two of them. "Now." She readied herself to lift the injured Vlix, but soon realized the Gaul had died.

Mira shot past her, letting Narses enter the hall first. The girl turned and looked expectantly at Gabrielle. "Come on," she said.

"Get to the roof and get away from here," the warrior said. "Go back to the mansion and wait for me."

Mira crossed her arms. "Where are you going?"

"I'll draw them away from you."

"But--"

Suddenly there was a crash behind them as an arrow shattered the window. Just as suddenly, the arrow--bound for Mira's right eye--appeared in Gabrielle's hand. The girl stared wide-eyed at the bolt point just inches from her eye.

"Go." Gabrielle tossed the arrow aside and pushed the girl into the hall toward the stairs leading up. Still in shock, Mira ran without thinking and disappeared up the staircase.

The warrior drew her katanna and readied herself in the middle of the hall. The sound of heavy armor and quick-moving footsteps ascending the staircase filled her ears. Scouts, she mused silently. Four…

Four Praetorians stepped onto the third floor and rounded the corner, short swords drawn. Having seen Gabrielle, the last one yelled down the staircase, "Here," and advanced with his three comrades. Shouts and more heavy feet could be heard ascending the staircase.

The warrior raised her blade into a high attack, horizontal to the ground and crouched into a low stance. Unfazed, the soldiers formed a tight wedge and continued to advance, their steps causing the old floor to creak menacingly.

Without ceremony, Gabrielle slashed downward through the first soldier's neck, sending his head from his shoulders and soon, spurts of blood all over his comrades and the hallway. The body slumped in front of the others, obstructing them slightly. One managed to stab at Gabrielle's abdomen. The warrior thrust her sword upward, blocking the blow in a shower of sparks and leaving the soldier exposed to her next attack--a quick spinning slash that found the soft flesh just below his breastplate. The soldier fell to his knees, clutching his spilling entrails in shock. Not resting, the warrior stabbed forward piercing the next soldier's abdomen and slashing out through the side of his torso as he screamed in pain.

The final Praetorian stepped into a more defensive posture, sword placed at his side. Gabrielle feinted high, then spun full around and aimed her attack low at the soldier's bare knee. The katanna found no resistance from bone, flesh or cartilage as it separated the man from the lower half of his right leg. With a crash, the soldier crumpled to the floor where Gabrielle dispatched him with a swift downward stab that sank the katanna's tip into the wood of the floor.

Standing, the warrior could hear the sound of many more soldiers taking the stairs, drawing closer. Sounds like… twenty… Taking a breath, she slipped into another stance, ready for combat. Slowing her breathing she hoped that Mira had escaped. She sighed. This isn't a good idea…

Sheathing her blade, Gabrielle turned and ran for the apartment just as the first soldier rounded the corner. Slamming the door behind her, she leaped over the heavy couch and shoved it back toward the entrance, barring it. Pounding and eventually slamming began on the other side of the door.

The warrior cursed as a volley of arrows came through the window forcing her to drop prone. The bolts embedded deep in the plaster walls and a wooden beam where she had been standing. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea either…

Crawling on her belly, Gabrielle made her way to the far wall, where the window was. She looked back toward the door. It would only be a matter of time before the Praetorians forced their way into the room. She looked up at the now open window. There were at least two, maybe three archers out there and that meant they would be able to get at least two or three shots off if she decided to climb through the window. She sighed.

The warrior's eyes darted intently from the window to the door, the door to the window. Growling, Gabrielle twisted up into a crouching position just under the window. She closed her eyes and began slowing her breathing. There were shouts and voices from the street below. The pounding and yelling from beyond the door grew louder and more intense, the door beginning to inch open.

Gabrielle opened her eyes and prepared to leap out the window.

***

The Emperor Nero lounged upon a long divan, eyes closed. The ornate couch sat in the shade on a low hanging balcony at the Domus Aurea, overlooking the Imperial gardens and out toward the Forum. Nero was listening to the wind rustle through the leaves of the nearby trees. The smell of far off rain entered his nostrils and he smiled. He sipped at a goblet of milk sweetened with honey and returned it to a nearby table, covered with food. With a smug grin, he reclined with a happy sigh.

Without announcement, Octavia stepped onto the balcony, a scroll held tightly in her hands. "Caesar, news from the way station south of Perusia."

The Emperor put a hand to his forehead and sighed. "What now, my dear?"

"It would appear that the Italica has joined with the three traitorous legions," the bodyguard said. "They are camped within a day of the city."

Nero met her concerned stare with one of disinterest. "And?"

"Caesar, with reinforcements from Ostia waylaid for at least two days, Rome is vulnerable," she said sternly. "You are vulnerable."

Nero relaxed, lying back among his plush pillows. He stared out over the city. "Sweet Octavia, by this evening the citizens of Rome will have far more pressing concerns than a bunch of toy soldiers," he chuckled, selecting a grape from a tray beside him and popping it into his mouth.

The bodyguard relaxed somewhat at this and nodded. "Preparations continue, Caesar," she said. "The Vigiles and Urban Cohorts have reported that all will be as you have ordered before sunset."

"And this storm?"

"The Sibylline performed a secret augury for me. According to them, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Ah, excellent." Nero smiled. "You see?" He turned and winked at the German woman. "And our little party? Will all be ready for that?"

Octavia nodded with stoic aplomb. "I am ready, Caesar."

"Good. Good." The Emperor put his hands behind his head and looked out at the darkening horizon. "Let's hope our special guest is just as keen as we are."

***

Gabrielle sprang up through the window and onto the window ledge. Freeing the chakram from her belt, she hurled the weapon at a Praetorian archer perched on a roof across the street. As soon as the blade left her hand, the warrior cart-wheeled along the ledge, just out of the path of two arrows that entered the now empty apartment.

The chakram found its mark, shattering the archer's bow and several bones in his wrist before it arced on a return path toward Gabrielle. With another cart-wheel, the warrior returned to the front of the shattered window to catch the returning weapon.

Inside the apartment, a loud and decisive crash signaled the entrance of the Praetorians from the hall--they spilled into the room and, spotting the warrior on the ledge outside, headed for the window. Grinning mischievously at the fast-approaching soldiers, Gabrielle delayed her escape for a breath then, chakram in hand, broke into a run along the ledge. In her wake, two arrows found their mark in a Praetorian's chest and throat staggering the dying man back into his comrades.

The warrior kept her eye on a series of scaffolds to the east of the tenement that seemed to continue along for several city blocks. That might work… She increased her pace, calmly batting away an arrow with the chakram and dodging another, which splintered against the wall behind her.

Suddenly, a window shattered just in front of her spraying glass against her body. A Praetorian leaned out, attempting to grab the warrior with his thickly-muscled arms. Gabrielle shot into a crouch, avoiding capture and with an angry growl, took hold of the man's wrist and yanked him out the window. He looked back up at her in shock as he plummeted toward the fast-approaching ground below.

"Archers," she remembered out loud and hurled the chakram at one of the determined bowmen across the street. The incoming weapon caused the man to duck and misfire his bolt, which flew harmlessly wide and low. Gabrielle rolled forward along the ledge, avoiding the second archer's arrow. Turning, the warrior kicked another Praetorian who tried to gain footing on the ledge, sending him back into the room with a spouting face.

Gabrielle caught the returning chakram and sprinted lithely along the narrow shelf. There was another twenty-five feet before it came to an end and then the long jump to the scaffolding after that. The warrior sighed. It's a living…

Glass erupted to her right, the shards slashing her arms. A soldier grabbed hold of her ankles and tried to pull her into the building. Losing her balance, Gabrielle prepared to slice at the man with the chakram then remembered the timing of the arrows. Dodging at the last second, she was able to avoid the first bolt completely, but the second sliced across her bicep before breaking against the wall. Blood began spilling steadily from the wound.

"That's it," Gabrielle yelled. No longer resisting the soldier's yanking, the warrior lunged forward and into the room, forcing herself on top of the stunned man. With three quick strikes to the face, she rendered him unconscious. She looked around the room to the doorway. "Slight change of plans…"

Lunging to her feet, she bolted for the open door and rolled into the hallway. There was a rushing sound followed by a wet thud as a crossbowman launched his arrow into his sword-wielding companion on the other side of the door. Gabrielle launched the chakram at the swordsman rebounding it off the wall beside him. The ricochet disarmed the soldier and subsequent rebounds bludgeoned him into submission. The warrior had already disabled two more men before catching the weapon and running down the hall.

Further along, a door swung open and screaming spilled out into the hall. A woman holding a baby fled her apartment and the warrior could hear a commotion inside. The woman stood mouth agape as the bloodied Gabrielle pushed past her into the apartment.

Passing through the cluttered abode, the warrior readied herself as she approached the main room. A Praetorian, back turned, peered out a window--apparently still looking for the warrior on the ledge. Laughing menacingly, Gabrielle ran straight at him and kicked him out the window and down to the street below. More screams came from behind her. Soldiers began pouring into the apartment. Turning, Gabrielle sprang out through the window and onto the ledge once again.

Soldiers had stepped onto the ledge to her left and to her right, and others were about to appear at the window behind her.

"Uh oh…"

Swords at the ready, the Romans began to close in.

***

When they got to the roof, both Mira and Narses were relieved to find it unoccupied.

Narses headed toward the southern end. "Listen, we're going to have to use the rooftops," he said oddly.

"And?" Mira asked sarcastically.

"It's quite dangerous to use the 'Thieves' Highway,'" he said, obviously mocking her. "I can't baby-sit you along the way, you know?"

The girl just scowled at him and broke into a run toward the edge of the roof. At the peak of her sprint, Mira launched herself forward off of the building and over the wide chasm of air over the street below. Without breaking a stride, she landed on the building opposite and continued on toward the next. Narses marveled momentarily, then with a shrug, followed. They continued this way, until Narses called for them to stop and climb down the side of a building.

As they descended using the building's many balconies to the street below, Mira squinted down at the thief. "Why'd we stop here?" she asked.

"We need to find some faster transportation," he said.

"Again I ask: why?"

Narses never stopped looking at what he was doing. "We're going to need it if we want to rescue your friend."

Mira stopped for a moment, letting that sink in before continuing steadily down the building.

Soon, they had reached the ground and began navigating the alleys and shaded streets. Many of the buildings were quiet and few if any people were about. Within a few moments, they had located a stable.

"Doesn't seem to be anyone around," Narses said.

Mira nodded. "Let's go."

The earthy stink of animals filled their nostrils. Narses leaned over a stall, then another before he turned to the girl. "There's a horse, here."

Mira continued along the row of stalls. Reaching the end, she turned around dejectedly and slouched toward a pen she had passed earlier. Narses looked at the girl. "You didn't find anything?"

"Oh, I found something," Mira said with a grimace. "I'm just not sure what it is."

Narses leaned over the stall the girl had indicated. He immediately burst into laughter. Despite herself, Mira joined in.

"It's a camel," Narses said. "From the Land of the Pharaohs, no doubt."

The strange and smelly animal continued to chew its meal, indifferent to their laughter. "Well, I'm not riding that thing, I can tell you that," Mira said.

Narses crossed his arms, still smiling. "Oh, yes you are."

"No way."

"You are."

"I'm not," Mira said. "It has a hump and it smells."

Narses sighed. "I think it's fair to say that we're operating under the usual Thieves' honor system here, yes?" he asked.

The girl nodded.

"Then finders' rights apply, right?"

Mira growled and kicked at the straw-covered ground. "Damn Thieves' honor system," she muttered and moved to find a saddle for the strange beast.

Narses grinned. "You're lucky it only has one hump."

"Don't tell me these things come in multi-hump versions." Mira rolled her eyes as she collected the strange beast's tack and gear.

Within minutes, Narses led his mount from the stables. Pausing, he turned around, squinting into the dark building. "Sarah?" he called out.

"Come on, ya dumb fleabag." Mira pulled hard on the camel's reins, but the beast was moving slowly and stubbornly from the stable. "Let's go."

Narses swung himself up into the saddle and taking the reins prepared to leave. He turned. "Come on, stop fooling around."

"'Fooling around,' he says," she muttered, rolling her eyes and yanking harder on the animal's lead. It snorted defiantly at the girl.

Soon, they were riding through the shaded and quiet alleys, heading back to Vlix's tenement. The camel, once it started, seemed to enjoy the ride through the streets. Narses leaned over so Mira could hear. "Once we arrive, I'll cause a diversion," he said. "Be ready to get Lila out of there."

"Don't you worry about me," she said.

The gruff thief considered her for a moment then smiled with uncharacteristic warmth. "Alright, I won't."

They continued along, drawing closer by the second. Trying not to concentrate on the camel's smell, Mira looked over at Narses, wondering if she might be wrong about him.

***

Gabrielle kept the soldiers at bay with her katanna on one side of her and the chakram on the other. She threatened the soldiers at the window with a brandish of the circlet and they stepped back into the room. With her two weapons and position on the narrow ledge facing into the apartment, the warrior had a not entirely hopeless defense. However, the fact of the matter was, the warrior was at quite a disadvantage.

"Surrender," one of the Praetorians on the ledge to her right said firmly. "And we will not hurt you."

One of the Romans to her left took a step toward her and Gabrielle raised the chakram for a backhanded throw. She narrowed her eyes to fiery green splinters. The soldier stepped back, slowly.

The warrior indicated her bloody arm--which she knew looked worse than it actually was. "Too late," she said, smiling wryly.

"Surrender now," the Praetorian repeated.

The warrior closed her eyes. She sighed and relaxed her body. With slow and deliberate movements she sheathed her katanna and placed the chakram at her side. She put her hands up.

"A wise choice," the soldier nodded. He moved to secure the warrior.

With a quick turn of her head, Gabrielle winked at the man and took a step backward off the ledge. The warrior dropped straight down for two floors with the soldiers staring open-mouthed. At the last possible moment, her hands shot out and gripped the second floor ledge and swiftly pulled herself up. As the Praetorian commander shouted orders above, Gabrielle sprinted along the narrow shelf toward the scaffolding as before.

An arrow clacked into the wall behind her. Still some left… She built up speed as the divide drew closer. Her ribs ached, but Gabrielle's powerful legs pushed her forward at great speed and finally, with a war-cry, she leaped between the tenement and the large collection of scaffolding across the street. Leaning forward in mid air, she outstretched her arms. Within a second she had reached the other side, grabbing a thin metal crosspiece and swinging herself around fully until she could land in a crouch. The warrior expertly caught a speeding arrow that had been fired at her chest and discarded it, making her way through the complex maze of beams and piping.

There were shouts from across the street and soon more soldiers appeared from down the block, approaching the scaffolding in a steady jog. Several chariots also sped in, equipped with javelin throwers. Gabrielle squinted down at the scrambling troops. All this for lil' ole me?

The warrior began climbing up into the large span of construction as Romans began to climb after her. Pausing, she looked at the positions of several of her pursuers then took the chakram from her belt. She hurled it down at a ladder that had three soldiers climbing it. The blade skimmed along the metal rungs in a shower of sparks as it ricocheted into the lead climber's helmet, knocking the man down upon his comrades and spilling them all from the ladder.

The chakram rebounded out and over the street.

Gabrielle climbed steadily, hoisting herself up to a board walkway and breaking into a run. Spilling into a front roll, she avoided another volley of arrows. She winced as both her wounded arm and her ribs protested against the acrobatics.

Across the street, the chakram ricocheted in a shower of plaster, spinning upward and down the block.

The Praetorians scrambled up the structure gaining ground on the warrior. They fanned out along the foundations in an attempt to cut off her escape to the street. Gabrielle cursed under her breath as she leaped over a drop.

The chakram arced out over the flat roof of a squat tenement, bouncing off of a rusty pole and on a new path.

Landing hard, Gabrielle grunted as hurt shot through her chest forcing her to slow momentarily. She growled as she swiftly turned to swat two more arrows from the air. The warrior broke into a run again, this time noticeably slower.

One of the Praetorian archers notched another arrow and took aim at the fleeing woman. "I have you now" he smiled. He didn't hear the rush of air fast approaching the back of his head until it was too late. After shattering the man's skull, the chakram arced back out over the street and toward the scaffolding.

A soldier climbed onto the level just in front of Gabrielle. The warrior grabbed a bar above her and swinging forward, kicked the Roman in the stomach with both feet. He spilled down the ladder and onto three more men, toppling them all in a heap to the ground.

The chakram returned to her hand and the warrior replaced it on her belt, dropping down through the ladder hole, swinging onto the lower level.

Landing with a dull thud, she surprised two soldiers who turned quickly to attack. Gabrielle thrust the index and middle fingers of both her hands into either side of the first one's neck. The man seized up and began gasping for air, a trail of blood leaking from his nostril.

As the dying man fell to the floor, the second soldier lunged forward and grabbed the warrior in a bear hug. Swinging blindly, she managed to knock the man's helmet off before he squeezed her against him, trapping her arms at her sides. Gabrielle screamed in pain as her entire chest seared in the strong man's grip. Desperately, she slammed her forehead into the bridge of the man's nose causing blood to spray across his face, but he still held her in his brutal clutches.

Over the blood rushing in her ears, Gabrielle could hear an incoming arrow. That one's cocky, she thought and shifted her weight causing the soldier to sway and finally spin. There was a wet thud and the man stiffened, loosening his grip. Gabrielle freed her arms and double chopped the Roman in the neck. He let go of the warrior and teetered toward the edge, grasping at his back and finally stumbling off the scaffolding and down to the street below.

Looking about the structure, Gabrielle realized that she may have been out-maneuvered as soldiers were now above and below her.

From the street there came a familiar shout of an unfamiliar name. "Lila!"

"Mira." Gabrielle looked down to the street and saw Narses upon a horse, drawing the chariots and some archers away from the bottom of the structure. She also saw Mira riding awkwardly on a camel. Without wasting time, the warrior began descending the structure toward her friend.

A group of soldiers were going to head her off before she could escape and they readied their short swords and daggers as they assembled. Gabrielle increased her pace toward the group.

The first Praetorian went for a high attack but she feinted low, forcing him off balance and she spun into a deadly roundhouse kick that slammed into the man's temple. Even with his helmet, the blow was a mortal one and he was dead before he hit the street below.

From the spin of her kick, the warrior dropped into a crouch to avoid a quick slash from the next soldier and freed her sai from their scabbards. She jabbed the blunt pommels into the man's groin and guided him from the structure. He bounced off a level below before crashing to the ground.

Spinning the weapons in her hands she thrust up into a quick attack to the exposed flesh of the next Roman's underarm. The man fell with blood spraying from the small, though deep wound. Gabrielle spun now into an overhand sweep--again with the blunt ends of the weapons--that caught the final soldier in the jaw, shattering his teeth and spilling him off of the scaffolding. The warrior paused to sheath the weapons before continuing toward the edge of the structure.

On the street below, Mira had somehow managed to turn the camel around but was now being chased by a chariot. Gabrielle could hear the girl cursing and yelling. The chariot's javelin thrower threw a projectile at the girl, narrowly missing her and the hapless camel.

The warrior ran along the edge of the structure now parallel to Mira on the street below--remaining in the direct line of fire of the final archer. A pulley crane sat at the end of the ledge, locked into place. Gabrielle fired the chakram at the locking mechanism, disabling it. She caught the blade and sheathed just before leaping off the structure. An arrow whizzed by her head as she grabbed the crane's hook and it began to lower her in a slightly controlled descent.

Mira and the camel galloped chaotically below and Gabrielle had to let go a little prematurely to time her drop properly. With a painful sounding thud, she landed on the rear of the dromedary. "These don't make for a soft landing," she said, trying to hide the pain in her voice. "Do they?"

"Gabrielle!" Mira exclaimed. The camel, however, was not as impressed with the warrior and bucked a little causing her to grip tightly on the creature's hump and clutch the animal between her legs in a somewhat undignified position.

Wincing in both pain with her ribs and disgust at the stench of camel, Gabrielle turned in time to see a Roman fire another javelin at them. Given her current seating arrangement and the 'target' she was offering to the chariot, the warrior became understandably distressed. "Turn!" she yelled at the girl.

"You actually think I can turn this thing? Woah!" Mira held fast to the reins as the camel bucked again and turned suddenly. The javelin rushed by them, harmlessly. Gabrielle pulled herself up the camel's back, getting a better grip on it. Spinning, she fired the chakram at the pursuing charioteer, sending him off the back of it.

The warrior caught the chakram and turned back to Mira with a scowl. "Could you have picked a worse escape animal?"

"It was Narses," Mira chuckled. "He made me."

"Speaking of which…"

Gabrielle indicated the thief approaching at a gallop. He rode up beside them with a grin. "Nothing like a late-afternoon ride, huh?"

The warrior only grimaced. "Where to now?"

Narses took note of the wound in Gabrielle arm. "Somewhere to wait until nightfall," he said. "Follow me."

He moved to the lead and the camel followed without protest. Mira turned to Gabrielle. "Then what?" she asked.

The warrior ignored the throbbing pain of her ribs. "Then we do this ourselves," she said.

***

The streets winding around the Quirinal hill were blissfully quiet in contrast to the bustle and nervous tension of the nearby Forum. Eve enjoyed the playful shadows of the sun through the wind-tickled trees, skipping and swaying on the roads, the homes. She and Analea strolled hand in hand up the hill on the way to Gallus' mansion. The leaves rustled against steady breezes now, and occasionally gusts would whip up dust from the ground or the houses.

Eve felt fatigue begin to settle upon her. They had been sneaking about for hours trying to return from the tunnels and their discovery of Eli's scroll. Soldiers had patrolled the streets in small and frequent groups. Checkpoints seemed to multiply by the hour. Even the Vigiles--the Roman fire-fighters--seemed to be out in force, coating buildings in a strange oily substance. Analea had asked why, but Eve had been unable to answer.

Every corner had presented a new stress, a new worry. They were forced to hide for hours in an Artemesian temple when a large force of Praetorians set up a mobile camp in a nearby square. Analea had trembled beside her as they crouched among the devout, the supplicant.

Finally they had made it past the checkpoint near the Quirinal and were safe to return home. Eve sighed, almost happy. The breeze picked up, whipping her hair as they turned the corner that led up to the gates of the mansion. Clouds swelled black and dangerous to the west. They made the acolyte uneasy. She smelled rain on the wind.

Analea noted Eve's object of distress. She smiled. "You don't need the powers of the One God to know that it's going to rain tonight."

Eve chuckled. "No. You're right," she said.

"It's a good thing, too." Analea shrugged. "Considering the drought."

Eve nodded, still uneasy about the feverish boil of black clouds that appeared to move at an unearthly rate toward the city. Her brows knit.

They approached the large, unmanned gate to the senator's property.

"Are you worried about what the scroll might say?" Analea asked suddenly.

Eve blinked. "Why would I be worried?"

They passed through the wooden gate and moved along the shaded path leading through the grounds. Analea turned to the acolyte, a concerned expression upon her face. "Prophecy is two-edged," she said. "Knowing the future can be a blessing, but it can as easily be a hindrance, a burden…" She paused, for weight. "A curse."

Eve smiled at her. "Such wisdom, again," she said. The acolyte placed her hands on the girl's shoulders, looking into her eyes with assurance. "I do not fear what I will find."

They said their goodbyes at a fork in the road; Eve to continue up and to the mansion and Analea to move on to the stables and the other Elians.

As Eve walked alone, the birds chirped around her in oddly dissonant tones. She climbed the tall staircase leading up to the home and looked out over the city below. The thick veil of haze was lifting, allowing an un-obscured view of Rome, stretched out along the Tiberus.

_Augustus had held her hand, leading her to one of the balconies at the Imperial Palace. The city was lit for the approaching night and twinkled like a gem. She was nineteen, and already a commander in the Imperial army, but still a girl in many ways. Parts of her still found it all quite breathtaking._

_The Emperor gestured to the city--and beyond._

_\--As Empress, all of this shall be yours._

_While most might mean this as a boast, a vain prancing of some kind meant to free her of her inhibitions--and clothes--Augustus told her this as a promise, an oath of his devotion to her. Perhaps this was why she could only feel love for him as a brother, a friend--choosing to lay with coarser men when needs of the flesh called._

_She smirked, never passing on an opportunity to spoil his regal airs._

_\--And if I were to decline?_

_While she often hated to tease or belittle him, Augustus was weak--choosing to talk rather than fight, to make laws rather than conquer. Many among the army, the provinces complained of his gentle approach to power. She had been one of them at times._

_And now, the dark stranger who haunted her dreams for months had visited her in reality, speaking of her destiny, her power--her Empire. Could he truly be the God of War?_

_Augustus turned, hurt somewhat, but then smiling, too._

_\--Then all of this shall be your enemy…_

Eve continued to climb, the scroll hidden in her robes, pressed tightly against her abdomen. Soon, she had arrived upon the terrace and entered the mansion. Servants darted about, preparing for the late afternoon meal. She stopped one. "Have the senator and Virgil returned?" she asked.

The man nodded. "But they are discussing something in private and wish not to be disturbed."

Eve moved along the halls, anxious to get to her quarters. The room was stuffy and warm when she entered. She threw open the shutters, letting a gust of rain-scented air waft through the chamber.

She sat at the desk and put the scroll upon its surface. Stained by dirt and time, the roll of parchment felt brittle beneath her fingers as she gently opened its seal and unfurled the papyrus. The writing was still dark and legible, scribed in a steady hand. Eve smiled--she somehow knew Eli would write in this way. Her eyes scanned the page, passing slowly over the twist of Aramaic letters--she had not read the language for many years.

Halfway through the first section she stopped, her mouth falling open. She quickly stepped away from the scroll and moved to the window, feeling faint, needing air. Staring out at the trees, the sky, the city below, Eve panted raggedly. Somewhere, out toward the west she thought she heard the roll of thunder.

The words had read: I write this across tides, across time for the eyes of one I have known in the world of dreams: my successor, my student--the one known as Eve…

***

_\--Origins, beginnings--_

_…The town is on fire._

_Places where we played, where we laughed, they are burning, crumbling into ash. People--neighbors and family--scramble to put it out, to pull others free of the flames. Bodies line the street, every face one I recognize, I remember._

_There is cheering and joy even in the midst of the chaos and damage. The enemy, Cortese, is defeated, his men scattered to the hills. We won--I won--and victory smolders impotently in my chest. It is my name the men chant in time to the thunder of drums. Only men could sing after such a day._

_Amidst the dead, broken, so lifeless it churns my guts to look upon him, lies Lyceus. I look to his face for life, for a smile, but there is only death's stillness. I don't even try to blame the tears on smoke or ash._

_And across the street is the cold, unforgiving face of my mother and the life I now leave behind…_

Down in the empty square, Roman soldiers guide a large wagon to a stop outside a weathered, uninteresting warehouse. Two wide doors are opened and several other men leave the building and begin carefully unloading squat barrels that appear to be sealed with a strange wax. After sixty-four barrels have been safely removed, the wagon departs and the soldiers and men enter the warehouse, closing the doors behind them.

From Her position high atop a nearby aqueduct, She has watched it all. The strengthening winds flow through Her cape, Her hair, whipping them to the side in inky lashes. Her eyes narrow into slivers of blue trained at the warehouse. The tension in Her jaw threatens to shatter teeth by the feel of it.

She should be completing Her master's mission, yet She is here watching a building full of Roman soldiers, with anger pulsing through Her.

_\--Beginnings have always been so easy…_

_…The gauntlet--as I am passed along, from man to man, blows raining down, I realize that the emotion I am feeling should be betrayal. After all, these are my men. I raised them from the ranks of those I conquered. I led them from Thrace down through dry Arcadia and soon on into the Peloponesse. I gave them direction, purpose, discipline. And now these same men raise their hands against me, try to kill me? And in the name of whom? Darphus?_

_As I say, I should be feeling betrayal--and yet, all I am feeling is weariness. Exhaustion. Exhausted that a man's honor shrivels to nothingness before the promise of riches, of power. Tired that I have watched the same drama play itself out from one corner of the world to the other. Tired that even when I was most confident that I could avoid a similar fate, deep in my soul I knew I could not._

_Steel, armor--swords are forged with hammer and fire, and such has it always been for me as well. At the end of this I shall be reborn--something new, something stronger, cooling at the edge of the fire…_

The flow of water gurgles behind Her, snapping Her back to the now. Twigs, leaves, dead rats slosh by in the aqueduct, spilling across the city. She climbs down to a lower level and crouches in the shadows there. Across the square, three soldiers chat casually in front of the warehouse.

Another wagon enters the square and makes its way steadily to the building. As before, the soldiers begin unloading the sealed barrels and put them in the warehouse.

She stretches Her hearing out to them.

"--much of this do we have to handle?" one of them asks with irritation. "It's pretty dangerous, y'know?"

"Ya don't say?" Another responds with heavy sarcasm. "Yer a genius, Ferrius, no wonder you got assigned this job."

"Yeah? Well what's your excuse?"

"Shut up and unload," the third one says.

She stands, squinting at the men and their task. The wind blows a gust again.

_\--Beginnings have always been remarkably easy… Haven't they? Like spring born from winter's chill…_

_…I hear her out there, about twenty feet away crouching in the brush. She makes more noise just breathing than a whole troop of soldiers from Chin in full charge. How long can I let this go on? I should send her home. I should call her out and say: 'Look, Gabrielle, there is no way in Tartarus that I can be responsible for myself and some little farm girl. I don't have the time. I don't have the patience and most of all, I don't want you around. So just go home.'_

_So why don't I?_

_We're starting to put a lot of ground between here and her home. She shouldn't be out here. I'm heading into some pretty dangerous territory. That's the point, after all. That's what warriors do, right? That's not what farm girls, or bards, or whatever she says she is, do._

_She's starting to sing to herself, for Hera's sake. Who does that when they're trying to hide? I have to end this._

_I call her out. She eventually steps forward…_

_\--I was gonna follow you, until you were in some jam. It's so cold out there, and I couldn't get a fire started. And the mosquitoes are as big as eagles._

_Well, there might not be any harm letting her stay for the night…_

_\--You know, I'm sending you home in the morning._

_\--I won't stay home. I don't belong there, Xena. I'm not the little girl that my parents wanted me to be. You wouldn't understand._

_I guess I can sympathize._

_\--It's not easy proving you're a different person._

_Better not let her get the wrong idea, though…_

_\--You can sleep over there…_

_She's definitely leaving in the morning…_

She dropped to the street, landing without a sound. Six strides got Her to the edge of the square and She watched the wagon leave, passing behind an abandoned building to the north. Two of the soldiers entered the building, while the last remained outside.

Meridian gave an anxious tremor upon Her back…

_\--And spring always follows winter, no matter how cold, how unforgiving…how impossible…_

_…The darkness weighs heavy here, pressing in through the eyes, as if after a long slumber. I am naked, cold. Steam peals from my skin and I see it rise from me as my vision adjusts in the twilight._

_I do not know who I am, or where this is…_

_There is a word I wish to say, a name. Somehow I know if I do, things will be made clear…_

_\--G-Gabrielle?_

_Two figures move in the darkness, shadows half-remembered--a man, a woman, a sister, a brother…_

_\--I thought I told you to nix the memories, sis._

_\--That one isn't so easy…you knew that…_

_I hate being this confused. Even though things feel like they are returning to me, they hover unformed, just out of reach--faces in the dark._

_I try the name again, for comfort if nothing else…_

_\--Gabrielle…_

_And then I remember._

_I need to stand, to get out of here, somehow. This is wrong, it is all so wrong…_

_\--Do something!_

_And all is darkness again…_

She frees Meridian from its scabbard and jogs across the square. She will hide behind the statue at its center before commencing this improvised strike She has undertaken. Crouching with Her back to the statue's base, She pauses to control Her breathing. She looks up at the sculpture--up into its face. A face She recognizes: first from another statue in the temple, where She fought the warrior woman, then…

_…my legs are ruined. Iron spikes have pierced and shattered my feet. The bones in my ankles are smashed to splinters. I am nailed through my hands to this cross._

_But what I hate most is that these are not the worst parts of me he has stolen or destroyed._

_For that I curse myself._

_He stands below me, looking up. Ironic, I suppose. I make sure not to whimper or show any sign of pain._

_The cynical part of me wonders why I suddenly choose now to start denying him anything…_

_I keep repeating nonsense in my head, why?_

_…Beginnings have always been so easy… Like spring born from winter's chill… no matter how cold, how unforgiving…how impossible…no matter how far it takes me from who I am…_

_As I slip from consciousness I hear him laugh and think I will never be able to match his cruelty…especially by using my heart the way I do._

_The pain in my arms, my legs waxes and wanes, eventually numbs to hard points of black space within me, empty and dead._

_These are not the only places…_

Standing slowly, She retreats, leaving the square in a quick sprint. Soon, She is upon the nearby rooftops, skimming along them to the northeast.

She is calm. She is resolute. She is surprisingly at peace.

Her master's task is the one She must focus upon. Her anger for Rome is best served by his plans, his will--it all makes sense to Her now. She need only do what it is he has asked. In the soft places within Her, She can feel the confusion leech away, wink out. She can feel it all grow cold and dark and hard.

Tonight, She will kill the Emperor Nero--or die in the attempt.


	8. Ignigenesis

Night was new and trembling around them. The storm shrouded the city in black, pulsing clouds, swollen with moisture. Sunset happened as though from behind a curtain; the colors leeching through in plaintive hues of faded rust. Treacherous was the light, hiding in strange corners and skulking away when it was needed most.

A dark weight pressed itself upon the city, draping over the seven hills. In the high vaults of clouds the thunder flowed. Forks of lightning flared in the distance, bleeding in gouts of pale light. Yet still there was no release, still the rain held off. With menacing footsteps, the storm moved through the streets, tracing claws along the tenements, clacking upon the windows, rattling the hinges and chimes. Paper and other loose trash drifted over the river, lost in the currents of moaning air.

The streets around the Forum were awash in fleeing debris, swept clean by the charged air. A dog jogged skittishly across the cobbles, tail between its legs as it approached the hunched form of its owner. The last merchants packed up with a nervous efficiency, moving briskly, staying silent in the oppressive darkness. Praetorians patrolled in small groups, guiding people along to their homes in time for the approaching curfew--their jaws locked tight. When thunder broke, everyone looked to the sky with wide, unblinking eyes, pausing with a nebulous expectation--then continued on their way.

Gabrielle watched it all from her hiding spot upon a low rooftop of a store just off the Forum. While the weather had little effect upon her nerves, the warrior felt the storm's influence over her body--her skin frequently tingling, as though in a quiet anticipation. She raised her eyes to the ink-black belly of clouds overhead, catching a flicker of lightning somewhere in the wide heavens.

Taking a final, quick scan of the streets, Gabrielle brought her eyes back to the rooftop. Mira lay on her back, eyes closed and probably sleeping. Mira looked so much younger when she was asleep. A lock of the girl's hair danced in the breeze, floating like the trill of an errant note of music. Like Lila's… The warrior sighed turning her attention back to the evening.

Absent from the roof for the moment, was Narses. The thief had 'entered' the store after its owners had closed to see if he could find some food. All the while, heavy clouds prowled overhead.

After fleeing Vlix's apartment, they had quickly abandoned their mounts and soon disappeared into the back streets of Rome. Narses led them to a tavern somewhere beyond the northeastern slope of the Viminal hill, where they spent the few remaining hours before dusk in uneasy silence. As twilight fell, they left the bar behind, moving as well as they could through the thoroughfares, and eventually-when Praetorian patrols increased with the approaching curfew-took to the rooftops.

Passing this way over the streets, skimming as they were, Gabrielle felt something almost take hold, a gentle thread of it entwining the softer parts of her, easing her steps. As she concentrated upon the feeling, it disappeared. Even now, hours later, she felt its absence, bore the weariness of its flight. The warrior bit her lip as she leaned back against a wall.

You can't always be pulled apart this way-scattered in so many directions, stretched too thin.

Hearts, souls, voices will never quiet their demands upon me, this I know. And there is only so much left to give, even if I wanted to grant it all. It serves nothing.

Even the simplest of things bear a weight; a bird's song, the smell of food, laughter. There comes a time when the wind stings the eyes too easily, the chill settles too deeply into flesh-the heart no longer veils what it desires and simply aches in the silence of any moment.

And again I find myself thinking of that final sleep, that trickle into still perfection. Only the thought of you out there-as unreal, unrealized and formless as any hope that has rattled wretched against the cage of my ribs-only the thought of you lifts me now, bears my feet, steadies my hands.

The wind picked up in a fierce and constant gust, collecting the dust and gathering it in a cloud that bloomed formless and wild over the Forum. The warrior watched as people struggled bent in two against the grit and bluster. Mira approached with her hand over her nose and mouth. "This just gets uglier and uglier, huh?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Doesn't change anything."

The girl appeared uneasy. "Look, maybe it's the storm but I have a really bad feeling about all of this."

"Oh?"

"I don't trust Narses, no matter how nice he's being," Mira said. "And we should have moved on the library right from the start; we could have cased it out better first instead of going in blind like this."

Gabrielle turned to the girl. "I've been to the library already, remember?" she said reassuringly. "And I have a plan." Mira scrunched up her face and looked away. The warrior smiled. "Don't you want to hear about it?" She sing-songed: "There's a really important sidekick component…"

"Good," Mira said turning, mood brightening. "Just like old times, huh?"

"Yeah." Looking back out over the Forum, Gabrielle smiled wistfully. _Old times…_ The wind had slowed allowing the dust to settle once again upon the city. The warrior sighed.

Mira watched her friend. With a sigh of her own, she straightened and shook her head. "Look, I know you've got a lot on your mind but I wanted to tell you that you can't get rid of me that easily."

The warrior turned to the girl. "What?"

Mira nodded. "You're my family now -- my home -- and we have to stick together, and stand by each other no matter what."

Gabrielle remained still, allowing that to sink in. She put her hand to the girl's cheek. "And protect each other."

Mira paused for a moment, softening at her friend's touch. "I can take care of myself. I wish you would see that." She looked to Gabrielle with a sensitive caution. "Didn't you have the same problem with…uh…before?"

"There were things I didn't know I needed protection from." The warrior became somber, serious. "Things I never want you to experience."

"But--"

"Things that you're too innocent to understand," Gabrielle cut her off. "And I'd like it to stay that way." She aimed her green eyes into Mira's, making the girl look away. She sighed. Finally, hoping to lighten things, the warrior smiled. "Is that so wrong?"

The girl shrugged. "I guess not."

Gabrielle softened. "Come here." She opened her arms. Although surprised by the show of affection, Mira still responded quickly to the strong embrace. The warrior kissed the girl on the head. "You have a wonderful soul," Gabrielle whispered.

They stayed that way for a long moment then continued to watch as the night moved nervously about them. Narses lighted up from a ladder below and onto the roof, a bag in his hands. "A meager dinner but a dinner nonetheless."

They ate quickly and without any sort of joy, spending the next few minutes in silence.

A horn sounded from the library, swelling brassy upon the air. Another joined somewhere to the west, followed by another and another at all directions and deep into the city. Over it all, thunder rolled in the sky, shaking the buildings, causing dogs to bark and howl.

Gabrielle nodded. "Curfew is beginning." The warrior looked up into the tossing and billowing storm clouds above her head. She turned to her friends. "Wait until the first patrol passes," she said calmly. "Then we move."

***

The Emperor stood, as he often did, upon a balcony at the Domus Aurea, waiting.

He hated waiting.

When tardiness did occur, it was punished accordingly. Messengers were the most efficient they had ever been in the Empire because of the Emperor's distaste for waiting. Official ceremonies, while fine at the outset because of their inherent punctuality, became a problem as the Emperor found himself waiting for the end, which almost always was long in coming. Then there was travel by sea, which he didn't want to think about, for the very thought of its laborious lag and drag was a chore.

This night it seemed he waited on many things. The air around the city, suspended above like a throbbing crown, only added to his impatience. The wild dogs in the street, the grit-toothed wind, the coughing brazier stinking of heated bronze beside him, all made his stomach coil and cord in discomfort with the mass of waiting. Nero could, of course, appreciate the chaos and rising tide of dread the coming storm was inducing across Rome and among its denizens-but, again, it was the waiting that grew tiresome for him.

A steady breeze, thick with the liquor of rain pushed his silks aside, playing across his flesh, exciting him with its electric caress. He wished Octavia were around, but she was still preparing for the evening's 'festivities.' Nero grinned at that. At least some things might be worth waiting for-but only for a little while…

The Emperor looked out from his balcony. In the valley below, soldiers and Vigiles continued to work, coating trees and buildings in a glistening oil. He remained excited as he watched.

Prophecy, indeed…

The words of the Sibylline divination still played about in his mind:

_Sifting lands reveal powers once lost,  
Bearing Rome's destiny upon floods of flame;  
Olympus' rebirth is nigh  
In the gaze of the pulsing Eye,  
Casting the enemies of the Empire into darkness-  
Where only the dead can save them._

_Floods of flame…_ The thought made Nero tingle.

He looked out toward the north. Somewhere out there armies gathered, eyes fixed upon the city, the Domus, him. Like the storm, they threatened as an abstract. The fools look to the wrong place, he laughed to himself. It is Terrance; it is the mountain and the 'pulsing Eye' they should all concern their little minds with. But they wouldn't, he knew and he laughed.

Prophecy, destiny-to Nero there was no difference; both were equally ridiculous notions. Prophecy was what got Augustus-and countless other rulers-into trouble. Its riddles and wide interpretations were usually the fastest way to bring a noble house into ruin. Just ask ole Oedipus what he thinks about prophecy when you run into him in Tartarus…

And destiny? One need only to look to his uncle Julius to learn the harsh lesson of putting one's trust in its fickle hands. The problem with destiny is everyone, from a Pharaoh to a farm-boy, has one and you can never be sure just how good yours is going to be until the end. Unpleasantly surprised wasn't a good look on most people and one thing Nero hated almost as much as waiting, was being surprised-especially unpleasantly so.

The Emperor had always been taught, by his favorite teacher at least, that life was essentially meaningless, that humans were all simple pawns of the gods and should live just and good lives in the places and positions they were born. This suited Nero just fine. Having immersed himself in history and studying the world's greatest tyrants and conquerors, the young Nero had planned on becoming the most ruthless of them all. Wasn't this the way one who was born to his station should live good and justly?

Oh, perhaps his latest scheme was over-stepping things a little, but then again, his favorite teacher wasn't always right. After all, look where he ended up-and what would soon become of him.

The winds howled through the trees, bringing the smell of rain across the hills of Rome. Nero became listless and turned back into the Domus, entering the Hall of Mirrors. He appraised himself, eyes darting over his reflection, but soon became bored. With a sigh, he left. Entering the wide-open space of his inner garden, he hoped its birds and trees might distract him at least for a short while.

A servant stood, surprised by his entrance. She paused, glancing over the Emperor's semi-nude form, easily apparent beneath his robes. She blushed, smiling with a degree of curiosity and wonder. Nero returned the smile, twisting it cruelly. The girl-young, honey-haired, coltish in body-kept her eyes, her smile on the Emperor as she moved through the enclosed garden, gazing down along his entire length just before she disappeared into a small, enclosed copse of trees.

Nero looked outside one last time then walked toward the copse. _No sense in waiting for Octavia,_ he thought with a smile.

***

"…One might also think of time as a great, circular ocean with each instant, every drop in that endless body of water-a tiny sphere of time. And like a droplet is a tiny, perfect ocean, each moment contains all time. Every second is available to us at any time; every day is one day. Immortality is closer than we believe…

Death is not to be feared…"

Eve sighed.

She traced her finger, with an absent sensuality, along the edge of the parchment, staring at it in a pensive haze. _This is how Time would feel if I could touch it…and I am sliding back and forth along It..._

It was becoming too dark to read. Far to the west, the last of the sunset fell behind the rolling menace of the coming storm. For a brief instant light and darkness existed at the same place and time, overlapping high in the air.

Eve watched as the storm pushed over the sun and continued its descent on the city. A breeze washed in through the window, crossing the floor, rifling the scroll on the desk in front of her. She blinked down at the words, blending now into each other, the blank spaces -- darkness and light. The scroll rolled upon itself as she moved to find a lamp. Entombed in darkness for so long, it appeared to protest her lighting of the oil lamp.

She felt odd just then, as though she had to introduce herself to the parchment, or somehow prove her identity to it. To slowly and gently unravel it and reassure it that it was she the words were written for.

_Written by someone I never knew…someone who barely knew I existed…_

She moved her face away from the lamp as the flame came to life.

_I suppose I would be suspicious of me, too…_

More thunder and wind from outside, the sky continued to fill with black clouds as night came. The flame choked and flickered; Eve sheltered it with her hand as she sat in front of the scroll once again.

_Always the brave protector…_

It was true she had an odd compulsion to protect the flame. Beyond its use as a source of light to read by, Eve felt the flame was alive and like everything alive, must be preserved, championed, fiercely protected.

_By whom?_

_By me? Eli's Successor?_

_The Bitch of Rome?_

_The daughter of the Warrior Princess?_

_I'd like to see that…_

The flame steadied within the shelter of her palms, growing bright and tall, warming the skin of her face. Her vision blurred in the spill of its pulse, in the pearly heat of its glow-twisting into hues of rose, of orange, of red…

_It was night; she was on a bridge somewhere. A Roman soldier surprised her, sword in hand, threatening. Analea screamed in the distance. Without emotion, the soldier drove the sword into Eve's body. A small cry escaped her, a shiver of air pushed free of her lungs. The blade was lost within her, blurring her pain with the chill of steel._

_She felt the life drain from her, faster than she could imagine, as she was thrown off the bridge toward the rushing water below..._

_Sinking slowly into the rivers soft indigo folds, a small, resigned smile daubed the corners of her lips…_

Thunder cackled, arcing like madness across the hollows over the city, the mansion. Eve rubbed her eyes.

_The vision from the catacombs again; stronger this time, vivid, more real…_

Standing, she drew the robe about her and moved to the window. Trees, nearby buildings, a wagon below the window -- all wore the dusk as a shaded premonition of the day's demise.

_Afraid…_

She sighed.

_The road to Ephesus was rough, arid, unforgiving, though to Livia it always meant fulfillment of certain simple pleasures. The Legat in the area had a distaste for heretics and criminals that went above and beyond his duty to the Empire and as such, dealt out crucifixions on an alarmingly regular basis. On her rides through the area, she would be sure to slow her horse to an easy trot in order to enjoy the miles of hanging bodies, the groaning, the trickle of slow agony._

_She had read a report that stated the official had condemned over three hundred members of a sect known as the Elians to be nailed to the cross. Livia had heard of them, some prophet worshipping cult that rose out of the east and turned up sulky-faced across the Empire. She wanted to see how they died, knowing she wouldn't be surprised._

_How a person died said a lot. In her experience, she had witnessed countless deaths, but there only appeared to be two modes in which one passed to the other side-ready or not. Most who had felt the chill of her steel had been unprepared, frightened. Although, she truly believed that those who made death their business-warriors-would be the select few capable of being ready for their end and unafraid. To Livia, peace and pacifism were convenient excuses to hide a fear of death, used to prolong life for as long as possible while never truly living it. She had expected to see that customary fear painted upon the faces of the Elians she rode past that day._

_As she approached along the dry road she listened. What always made scenes such as this unique were the sounds. Crucifixion, while suitably horrible, was such a non-violent form of dispatch that, unlike murder or war, surrounding nature remained undisturbed for the most part. Below the usual moans and cries lay the chirping of birds, the rustles of leaves and grass. It added a chilling, though no less invigorating undertone to the scene._

_That day, as she rode, in her mind was some tune, half-remembered from her childhood, one she often found herself humming when relaxed. The horse walked steadily along under its own guidance. Soon, she listened for the sounds as she entered the shade of the valley. She stopped._

_Instead of a chorus of agony, she heard singing. Perhaps she misheard. Riding ahead she came upon the Elians, battered, dying, but singing. She turned the horse again and again. They continued to sing their pathetic songs, even above her shouts. Livia's eyes widened. Each of the cult members' fading gazes was free from fear._

_Her breathing quickened. Every Elian who met her eyes seemed to find something inside of her, as well. She screamed, drawing her blade._

_Soon, there was silence save for her own ragged breathing. The cloud of dust began to settle. Wiping her blade, Livia galloped away on a hard ride for Ephesus. Eventually, the sound of chirping birds returned…_

The winds whipped through the trees below the window, wild and whirling, the branches groaning and creaking in the chaos of disturbed air. Something shrouded in white seemed to be moving through the garden with a steady grace out of place among the uncertain atmosphere. Eve squinted into the fading and twisted light to make out the form.

_Analea…_

Soon, Eve descended the high staircase leading down onto the grounds that leaned across the southern slope of the hill. She moved silently over the cobbled path, as much curious as concerned about her friend's activities. What was she thinking prancing around in this?

"Analea!"

The young woman stopped, trying to pinpoint the voice. Eve caught up to her and shook her head. "What are you doing out here?"

"I love the air before a thunderstorm." She gave an almost-embarrassed shrug.

"That may be." The acolyte looked up into the swirling heavens. "But this is no ordinary storm."

Analea brushed a strand of hair that whipped across her vision. She smiled warmly at Eve. "I am not afraid."

Eve blinked at the woman, holding her robes in place against the wind. "I am… for you. I-" She gestured to the sky. "It's not safe."

"I know." Analea held out her hands, gesturing for Eve's. A smile, perhaps mischievous in nature, played across her face. Hesitating, Eve finally reached out and placed her hands in the other woman's, their fingers entwining comfortably. Analea grinned. "Not hard, was it?"

"No."

Through the shadowed copse, breezes hissed and branches clacked together. Analea squeezed Eve's hands, looking into her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Unconsciously, Eve pulled her hands away but stopped herself. She looked off into the trees. "I-it's this weather, it plays with my moods, I guess."

"The weather makes for uncertain emotions," Analea concurred. "But that is not the truth in your case." She grinned at Eve. "Is it?"

Eve sighed, ashamed and a little overwhelmed at the woman's ability to read her. Or am I that obvious? She nodded. "It's the scroll-Eli's scroll." Her eyes widened. "And…and everything… It's…"

"Too much." Analea nodded, finishing the thought.

"No." Eve turned away. "And yes…" She inhaled deeply. "There are passages within it that are…disturbing, that coincide with my visions…"

"I would be afraid of such things." The woman softly squeezed Eve's fingers. "I don't know how you can bear them."

Eve averted her gaze. "I'm not so sure I can…"

"Nonsense." Analea looked at the acolyte. "Who among us has more faith in the Way of Eli? In our path?"

"Analea I…" She paused, trying to break free. "It's hard to explain…"

Analea pulled her as she began to walk toward the edge of the copse, toward the stables. "Looking upon everyone's faces will make your path clear to you once again."

Eve was reluctant, but had to concede that seeing the others would kindle her sense of responsibility if nothing else. They moved through the shivering trees and finally out into the open where the winds pushed hard against them. Thunder crashed overhead and Eve's hair was blown about her face, making it difficult to see. The stables, lights glowing softly within, could be seen ahead.

In a lull between gusts, a sound filled Eve's ears. Low on the tense air it was carried trilling to her as they approached. She stopped, her eyes wide, mouth open.

"What is it?" Analea turned, confused then concerned. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Eve gaped at the stables. Still flowing over the wind, the sounds of the Elians singing around their fires came to her. She shook her head, looking at Analea. "I can't…"

"What?"

"I-I can't." Eve turned, breaking free of the woman's grip. She bolted off, heading back up toward the mansion.

Analea watched her disappear before she turned and walked toward the light, and the sounds of joyous singing.

***

Large torches and the campfires of Praetorian troops burned in the streets before the library. They cast harsh and dark shadows upon the structure, causing its face to take on a fleetingly sinister quality. The soldiers paced before the flames, some on duty, others camping for the evening in the streets, on the steps at the front of the building.

From a nearby rooftop, Gabrielle watched the Romans in the streets, her face reflecting the glow of the firelights. She scanned the movements, the timing of the troops, her eyes tracing the building's structure. Turning, she met Mira's inquiring gaze. "Three hundred or so, with a small compliment of about thirty doing patrols as far as the checkpoints."

Mira nodded then gestured to the side of the library. "The lower levels seem empty-it might be worth a try."

"The archives." Gabrielle nodded. "That's probably where they moved most of the scrolls."

"This all got set up overnight," Mira mused. "Could be sloppy, could be caught off-guard."

Narses, arms crossed, watched them with obvious contempt. "Shouldn't you be a tad more concrete in your plans?"

"I am." Gabrielle squinted at the Roman. "But it's not a bad idea to keep our options open."

"I see," he replied, still skeptical.

The warrior turned to Mira. "Have you spotted the servants' entrance yet?"

"Yup." The girl pointed toward the back of the building. "There hasn't been a lot of activity."

Gabrielle ran a hand through her hair. She turned to Narses. "You know what to do?"

He nodded. "I give you half a candlemark, then cause a diversion." He rolled his eyes. "It's all so terribly complicated."

Mira shook her head. Gabrielle offered a wry smile. "I'm sure you can handle it." She turned to the girl. "Let's go."

They moved silently toward the back of the roof, careful as they went to crouch low. Soon, they made their way to the street; a quiet, shadowed alley that led to the rear of the library. Gabrielle guided them slowly and deliberately through the dark, navigating the narrows between the old buildings. The girl kept up, her breathing only semi-audible. The warrior took note. Maybe she's doing those exercises I taught her...

They found their way to the small courtyard between the alley and the back of the library. Light poured from several doorways, but movement could be seen from only one-the servants' entrance. Figures passed in front of the portal, moving quickly in and out the light. Occasionally, as they watched, some would exit and leave on one errand or another. Others exited, usually to empty basins or jugs onto the street. It was this last group that Gabrielle paid the most attention to.

Mira shifted impatiently behind the warrior as another couple of servants left the building and disappeared into the night. She looked to her friend. "What about them?"

Gabrielle didn't turn around. "They aren't coming back."

"How can you tell?"

"Shh."

Mira sighed. More servants left the building. The warrior put her hand up silencing the girl before she could ask about them. Mira leaned against the alley wall, crossing her arms. "When do we get to follow my lead for once?"

The warrior looked at her. "When you learn to make better choices."

Mira shook her head. "You mean choices you'd make."

"Right," Gabrielle said with a wink. "Better choices." She turned back to the street and before Mira could respond, motioned toward two servants. "Here we go."

They watched the slave girls carry a load of rubbish toward the heap at the end of the square. The warrior nodded. "Wait until they start heading back."

Mira slid out of the alley and toward the square, her stride falling without sound on the dry cobbles of the street. Gabrielle watched from where she hid. After the servants were done, the girl moved up to them, changing her gait from confident to afraid. She flapped her arms hysterically. "Please," she entreated. "My mother…she's fallen and…and c-can't move. I don't know what's happened to her. Please, help me."

Soon, the two girls were following Mira toward the alley, both fairly concerned and hoping to help. Gabrielle, with some guilt, readied herself in the shadows as they entered. As painlessly as possible, the warrior incapacitated them, even applying extra pressure points to lessen the headache and nausea that were sure to descend upon them hand-in-hand with consciousness.

Mira helped with their limp forms. "Some hero."

"Hey, it's for the greater good," Gabrielle deadpanned. She gestured to the servants. "Now, help me with their clothes."

The girl laughed as they removed the unconscious servant girls' robes. After sizing and throwing the robes over their clothes, they left the alley, moving directly for the entrance to the library.

Mira scrutinized their disguises. "You think we pass for servants?"

Gabrielle shook her head as she attempted to hide the large bulge that was her pack. "Not really. But we only need to for less than a half-candlemark, right?"

The girl swallowed hard and followed Gabrielle. Exchanging one last look before entering, the duo moved into the torch-lit passage beyond.

The hallway they entered was empty and they continued with a slow caution. They passed down several dim marble corridors before descending a staircase into the archives. The halls here were small and lit by simple oil lamps that gave off little light. Gabrielle glanced into the various chambers they passed on their way through. Within were shelves piled high with scrolls and even upon the crude wooden tables many lay unfurled, collecting dust. The warrior paused with a wistful glance…

_Alexandria, the library fashioned as if from my dreams. We didn't really have the time to stop, did we? Yet you brought me there. You smiled that smile at me and shrugged._

_\--Well, I figured you liked scrolls so much…_

_And of course, through the entire afternoon, surrounded by every scroll, every written thought from every age, all I could focus on, all I desired was you -- pacing at the far end of the room, or leafing through a treatise on tactics, or your beloved Thucydides…_

Footsteps -- soldier's footsteps -- could be heard from the far end of the hall, approaching. Gabrielle turned to Mira and gestured to a nearby chamber. They darted inside, moving to hiding spots away from the doors.

The warrior listened carefully as the patrol moved down the hall. Based on their footfalls, Gabrielle determined this was a routine patrol and they weren't searching for anything. She looked to Mira, who seemed understandably concerned. Gabrielle mouthed the words, "Don't worry," to try and calm her.

Eventually the troop of soldiers had passed and their marching faded. Gabrielle relaxed, still blinking off into the hallway. Mira exhaled audibly. "That was close."

"I hope you're not usually this afraid of Romans," a voice said from behind them. "One would begin to question the truth of many of your scrolls, if that were the case."

Gabrielle whipped around, hand on the chakram, to see a middle-aged man -- the librarian, Livius -- standing at the back of the room. He smiled wryly at them as he held several scrolls in his hands. The warrior watched him carefully, still unsure of the man's intentions.

Mira squinted suspiciously at the librarian. "Who is this guy?"

"A…friend…" Gabrielle was unable to mask her uncertainty and some of her embarrassment. She was prepared to incapacitate the man, but hoped she didn't have to.

Livius seemed to fathom the situation, waving his hand in a grandfatherly sort of gesture. "I have no special affection for the Emperor, never fear." He looked around the dim room. "He is no lover of books or learning, as you can see, what with banishing any intellectual who steps out of line or having Praetorians running through here at all hours, sleeping in the aisles." With a grunt, he put the scrolls down upon the table. "Given his problems as a student, I can't say I'm surprised." He became dreamy-eyed, distracted. "Now Augustus, there was a scholar's Emperor-one would think Claudius, but Augustus, he-"

"Uh, can we move this along here?" Mira scowled in impatience.

"Just a second." The warrior turned to Livius. "The scrolls, from the other day-do you still have them?" There was a strange urgency to her question.

Livius nodded enthusiastically. "And more. I figured you might return and I wanted to surprise you." He noticed Mira cock her eyebrow at that. "It's not everyday one has the Warrior Bard of Potedeia in their library, you know." He returned his attention to Gabrielle. "I remembered that we had more scrolls about Nemesis when I remembered that Janius had used them before you had."

Gabrielle stepped forward. "Janius?"

"The Imperial librarian," Livius supplied. "The Emperor made special request of them."

Gabrielle looked concerned. "Where are they?"

Livius went to one of the shelves and gathered several. He handed them to the warrior. "Here." Before letting go of the last, he smiled at her. "Return them when you can."

"Of course." Gabrielle nodded with a grin. "Thank you."

Mira turned to Livius. "Do you know where the Praetorians might keep the passwords to the checkpoints?"

The librarian shook his head. "No, although their administrators seem to be holed up in the main gallery, if that's any help."

Gabrielle smiled as she prepared to leave. "It just might be. Thanks again."

After a quick check of the hallway, they left Livius behind in his dusty chamber and went on their way. At the stairwell leading back up to the main level, they hid in a small alcove. Mira smirked sarcastically at the warrior. "How's the extra weight?"

Gabrielle turned, gesturing to the scrolls, now carried in her pack. "These are a lot more important than you think."

_More important than even I think…_

_Why bring you back this way? Why bring you back at all?_

_Nothing but questions and questions and questions with no way, no time to find answers, or to find you…_

_How do you fit into any of this? How do any of us?_

Gabrielle sighed. Squinting ahead, she took a breath and moved silently up the marble stairs. Mira followed the warrior a moment later, just as silently up into the unknown corridor.

***

There was darkness on the hill. Few torches were lit and shadows were long, reaching and twisting over buildings, sunk into the virtue of the quiet places. Soldiers moved in small patrols through the rising wind and thunder. They passed thoroughfares that brought them near the dormant gates of the Sibylline temple, the gardens of Nero and the road leading up to the Domus Aurea.

She watched them down there, listened to them in the black-breathing, whispering. She could hear the quickened beat of their hearts, the tension in their voices. And there, thin as a tatter, blowing wild in the gusts, She could smell their apprehension and fear.

Her cape snapped in the rising wind high atop the impassive edifice of a victory arch. The arch straddled a thin street that snaked down one of the northwestern rises of the Esquilline hill into Nero's gardens. Below Her, to the east, lit by sputtering braziers stood the Domus, Her target.

Her hair whipped in the wind and She closed Her eyes, letting the storm's tumult caress Her, calm Her. There was trouble in Her guts; She could feel it. The voices, the faces, dredged up to the surface to spill into Her reality.

She had come to rest here out of confusion, not for any tactical reason. The God of War had outlined his plans, succinct as always. Why had She faltered, yet again?

The visions… The memories…

Could She not put faith in Her master's vision? Could She not serve as the vessel of Retribution, let it fill Her as easily and as completely as it once had? Ares would answer Her questions in time…

True, Her master had been reluctant, even evasive when it came to addressing the torment of Her visions-and these visions were what had waylaid Her yet again. But his plan, his will was all She had ever known-from the very beginning.

_Weren't they?_

Her head swayed in the breeze…

_The darkness weighs heavy here._

_It presses upon the eyes, clouding them as if after a long slumber. I am naked, cold. Steam rises from me as my vision adjusts in the twilight._

_I do not know who I am or where this is…_

_Two figures move in the darkness, shadows half-formed, half-remembered. A man and a woman, a sister and a brother._

_-Are they all gone this time, sis?_

_His voice is familiar to me now, it echoes loudly in the chasms of memory. The woman's voice also, is there, half-formed, half-remembered. The note of sadness in it makes familiarity tenuous, something I cannot be sure of._

_-Yes. All of them..._

_The man steps forward. Rocks, stones, the other grit and stuff of the earth slices my flesh as I slide to my knees. My stomach lurches, I taste blood as I try to stand. He steps forward._

_-You…know me?_

_I raise my head, my eyes to him, his face lit in the shapeless light._

_And then I remember._

_-Yes, my master._

_He turns to his sister, laughing, with chest swelling._

_-And I never believed you when you said: 'Love will find a way'…_

_The goddess sighs with a bowed head. Turning, Ares offers his hand to me._

_-You and me, kid, we're gonna make history._

_For a moment, there is a trembling, sunk deeply into the ragged tatters of what might be my soul._

_Then, I take his hand._

_The God of War's laughter echoes here, shattering flat against the gut of the world…_

In its scabbard Meridian quaked, giddy now. She opened Her eyes. Below Her, two sentries wandered on their rounds, a bullmastiff leading them on a stiff chain. She watched as they paused, looked around, noticed nothing. Silently She dropped to the ground behind them, freeing the aching blade.

The first strike -- a powerful thrust -- erupted from one's chest, spraying jets of rose, of scarlet, of violet upon the leaves of nearby trees, the spectral flesh of nearby statues. It sounded like the chatter of rain there. There was no cry of pain, only a stutter, a twitch, then the sad collapse. The other man turned, in shock more than out of any sort of definitive action. His mouth flopped open and closed on its hinges but no sound escaped. He looked to the dog, but it only sat and watched Her, haunches on the ground. He managed to whisper out the canine's kill-word, yet still the dog remained unmoving, at an odd calm.

She nodded to it. Animals respected Retribution at work and suborned themselves to its will. With a grin, She mused that flesh too obeyed those same laws. From beneath the arch, She stepped towards the remaining sentinel, the blade in Her hand trailing shadows and blood in fat droplets over the Roman streets.

***

From the window, Virgil watched the clouds bloat above the city. Deep within him his muse was tickled-the storm a potent motive for metaphor-and he considered a multitude of similes to describe the black menace that was descending upon Rome. 'The black-ironed heel of the gods pressed firmly to the throat of Rome' seemed evocative, if a little on the nose. Perhaps a lengthy expositive, something reminiscent of Homer himself: '…the storm pressed dark and heavy with the tang of doom, like the weight on a woman's heart whose lover has tarried too long on fields of war, and she imagines the myriad of deaths he has died, deaths of the spear and axe, blood spewing…' Virgil sighed. _Who am I kidding?_ Ultimately, the weighty impression of his insignificance in the face of it all washed all inspiration from him, letting him merely feel the gathering storm, without the comfort, the control of language.

He turned back to the room, moving towards the table, the wine. Gallus raised his head, while Seneca smiled grimly. They had all, the three of them, been lost in thought for some time. The evening had unfolded in that way, spirited conversation divided by long bouts of deep contemplation.

Virgil poured himself a cup of the wine. He swirled it in his hand. "So where did we leave things?"

Thunder echoed over the mansion, rattling the various furniture and pottery. A breeze brought the smell of rain into the room. "It is probably more correct to say: where have things left us?" Seneca leaned back on his couch.

Gallus sighed, getting to his feet. "Throwing our support behind this uprising is inconsequential in the grand scheme. It will happen with or without us," he said, grabbing an apple from the table. "And it will succeed or fail with or without us."

Seneca nodded. "Indeed. We must decide if there is anything to be gained by us, then." The old man nodded. "And if there is anything to be gained by our friends."

"Knowing the finer points of the attack would certainly help with the Elians' escape from the city," Virgil concurred. "With the troops and city in turmoil, things may go smoother."

Gallus swallowed some of the apple. "Or it could complicate matters." He shook his head. "With an attack on the city, escape might prove even more difficult." The senator swept his hand, gesturing with the fruit. "We could lose everything, including our own freedom, as well as that of our friends."

There was silence once again. Virgil drained his cup and poured himself another. Gallus bit into the apple, chewing thoughtfully as he leaned against the table. Seneca stood, brows knit. "It is no easy choice, but we must take risks if we are to gain anything." He smiled at his two friends. "Even if we are arrested and put to death, if it means the escape of our friends-then it is a victory."

"I think we all knew this." Virgil nodded. His face twisted into a self-mocking grin. "Why is it we came here hoping that someone might change our hearts?"

Gallus remained silent, continuing to chew. Seneca smiled at the poet. "You only came here to know you were not alone in any of your feelings. We all share the same doubts, yet the same convictions, as well."

"And to do nothing is not the Roman way." Gallus raised his head proudly. He looked to the old man. "Though, neither is sacrificing your life needlessly. There is no reason for you to be caught up in this-not now."

"Be that as it may, I wish to be caught up in it."

Virgil knelt in front of Seneca. "It's foolish. We could all be captured. You know the Emperor's feelings about you." The poet sadly shook his head. "This time the punishment will not be exile."

"Don't you think I'm aware of that?" The old man sighed in frustration. "How could I ever live with myself knowing you had all been executed and I had survived? No." He shook his head. "I'm with you in this. I'm with you all."

"You're being foolish." It was Virgil's turn to sigh with frustration. "Nero was your pupil, he is not your responsibility-he is not your mess to clean up." The poet smiled plaintively. "You can't erase past mistakes, real or imagined."

"Perhaps not," Seneca said. "But a man tries."

Understanding filled the poet's face. He nodded somberly. "So be it."

"It is agreed then." Gallus moved to his friends. "Tomorrow, Darius sends a runner for our answer. After that, for better or worse, our fate is bound together."

Soon after, Seneca and Gallus retired for the evening leaving Virgil alone in the study. He sat in silence upon a chair as he watched the sky shift and quake above. In his hand he held the pitcher of the Senator's wine. What words the storm did not take from him, the wine stole for itself.

***

Mira sighed behind the warrior. Gabrielle could hear her biting on a nail, slowly working it between her teeth. I forget she's still a girl… _She's been through a lot… grown a lot…but inside…_

Gabrielle turned, smiling reassuringly. "Come on, it's clear."

Mira sighed again. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

They moved at a cautious, though steady pace. Patrols of the library were light and infrequent, most likely employed only as the most lax of precautions. Most of its halls were open and spacious, hewn from polished marble and lit by simple iron braziers. Reading rooms and small galleries opened off these large passageways, all deserted. Simple artwork could be found as decoration: a statue of a soldier or wounded enemy here, a painting of a popular tale or fable there.

The library remained silent. Most activity was reserved for the lower levels, for the servants and their tasks. Gabrielle wasn't surprised they had not crossed paths with anyone, friend or foe, and was secretly thankful for it.

Mira became increasingly sullen the closer they got to the main gallery. She continued to bite at her nails. The warrior paused, turning to the girl. "You sure you're ready for this?"

"Yup." Mira removed her finger from her mouth, self-consciously placing it behind her back. She smiled. "You know I've been bugging you for more responsibilities."

Gabrielle looked into the girl's eyes and nodded. I can't believe I was younger than she was when I first… The warrior turned back down the hall. "Let's do this."

Ahead of them the passage led to the balcony that opened up onto the large main gallery, a wide expanse as tall as the entire building. A wooden wall, about the height of two men, formed a perimeter that created a space for the shelves and tables that made up the study area. Two patrols of two paced around the perimeter of the structure, while an additional two guards remained at the entrance. Within the walls, neat rows of shelves and tables were now shadowed, as only sparse torchlight illuminated the cordoned area.

They crouched in the darkness, looking down on this. With a resigned sigh, Mira turned to Gabrielle. "Well, wish me luck." The girl took the pouch of scrolls from her friend and moved toward the stairs.

Mira controlled her breathing as she descended the staircase and moved directly for the two Romans standing tall at the entrance to the gallery. This should be a piece of Brauronia cake… She gave a tiny nod of self-assurance. I've been in way worse spots… With a sigh she continued onward, not sure if that was completely true.

The Praetorians stepped forward as they noticed the girl in the half-light. When they took a closer look and saw her more clearly, they took a less formal posture. "What is it?" the taller one asked. "Our dinner isn't for another hour."

"Just returning these scrolls to their rightful place, at the order of master Livius," Mira answered as meekly as possible. With a shrug of her shoulders, she gestured to the bag she carried.

"At this hour?" The other soldier was irritated. "That Livius is an old kook."

"Give them to me," the taller one said, reaching out his hand. "We'll make sure they're returned."

Mira shook her head. "Begging your pardon, sir, but master Livius insisted I return them myself." She scrunched up her nose. "He says they're important historical documents and should be treated that way."

The other soldier scratched at his chin. "No one is to enter until morning, Brunus."

Brunus nodded, looking back to Mira. "We have orders."

"Please, sir. Master Livius insisted." Mira looked crestfallen, jutting her bottom lip forward in an entirely convincing pout. "I'll be quick…promise… you could come with me if you'd like…"

Brunus seemed to mull this over. The other guard placed a hand on his sword. "I don't know. I don't recognize her."

"Janian," Brunus chuckled in condescension. "Who can tell any of these library wenches apart? Especially in the dark." He turned to Mira and grabbed a torch. "I'll take you. Follow me."

As she followed the guard into the library, Mira glanced back to the balcony. Gabrielle was gone.

The warrior had removed her servants' robes and descended to the gallery floor, evaded the patrols and scaled the wooden wall into the darkness between the rows of cases and shelves. She watched the Praetorian's torchlight, taking in various features of the area and committing them to memory.

Mira seemed to be holding her own. She gestured to Brunus. "Uhm…Livius said to put them on the main administrator's desk…"

"This way."

They moved to a large desk near a hanging torch. Mira placed the bag of scrolls on the desk and smiled sweetly up at the soldier. "Thank you."

Soon they were gone, leaving the gallery dark and empty. After waiting for Mira to leave the guards, Gabrielle crept along the floor, keeping to the many shadows as she approached the administrator's desk. Within seconds, she was at the border of the torchlight surrounding the table. She looked back toward the entrance. The desk was in a virtual blind spot, although there was still a chance the warrior could be spotted if someone were looking in her direction.

With three silent strides, she was at the desk crouching behind it, out of sight. From her place on the ground she could look back up to the balcony. There, hiding behind a pillar, she could see Mira looking back at her. The girl was grinning. Gabrielle shook her head and smiled as she peeked over the desk at the pile of scrolls and parchment strewn across it.

_If I were the passwords, what would I look like?_

Waxen impressions in various styles and colors sealed the scrolls. At just a glance Gabrielle recognized many; this bundle boasted the arms of the magistrate, military insignias, even a few from certain merchant leagues. There were many from the same senders. Only one stood out, only one was unique and the warrior brought it close to look. The wax seal bore the stamp of the Emperor Nero himself. To be sure of the contents, Gabrielle broke the seal and glanced at the first few lines of writing. She rolled the parchment back up with a grin. It was the passwords.

_Good thing for Roman fastidiousness…_

Gabrielle knew the scroll's presence on the administrator's desk was merely a formality, as copies were already delivered to the various checkpoints throughout the city. It was only required in the case of disputes or corruption and was never meant to be opened unless needed. She carefully tucked it away, adjusting some of the scrolls in the bag. She looked up at Mira, giving her the thumbs up. The girl sat back against the pillar, settling in to wait out the short time before Narses was to cause his diversion.

Gabrielle calmed her breathing and waited for her chance to leave. The time for the diversion came and went and still she waited. She sighed. Just once I'd like to be pleasantly surprised…

Up on the balcony, Mira shifted nervously. Gabrielle motioned for her to calm down and prepare to move. The warrior was about to leave when the torchlight changed near the entranceway.

"Halt!"

The warrior rolled her eyes. Well, this makes things easier… She spun, drawing the katanna. Brunus ran at her, his sword drawn. In a fluid motion, she parried his swing leading him wide and to the floor as his sandals slipped on the polished marble. Gabrielle turned and ran as the Praetorians collected themselves and gave pursuit. Janian shouted at the top of his lungs for the other guards. Soon they appeared and charged after the warrior as well. Sheathing her blade, Gabrielle flipped up onto the shelves filled with scrolls and ran along the top of them until she could hop onto the wooden barrier, then up to the balcony where she landed beside a wide-eyed Mira.

"Let's go!"

The girl followed as they broke into a sprint down the hallway. A horn blast blared behind them.

"Great," Gabrielle muttered.

"I told you that guy was gonna sell us out." Mira was furious. "Dirty Roman rat."

The warrior leaped over a marble bench. "We need to get to the roof if we stand any chance of getting out of here." She thought about the layout of the library, as she knew it. "There's a large staircase coming up after the next hall."

They made for the passage at a full sprint. As they turned down it, from down a connecting hall, Mira spotted a large contingent of Praetorians charging for them, too many to count.

"Uhm, Gabrielle…"

"Run!"

The two friends raced down the long passage with a lead of at least one hundred yards. Ahead, they could see the chamber with the ornate double staircase opening around another long hall and leading up. Gabrielle slowed her pace, confusing Mira, who eased up as well. "What is it?" she asked.

The warrior gestured ahead. Praetorians began pouring down the staircase, flooding the chamber and setting up in positions on it and in the hall at its base.

"Well, it was fun while it lasted." The girl sighed as she slowed to a walk. "I guess we surrender, huh?"

"No."

"No?" Although Mira was terrified, part of her (a sick part) wondered what the warrior had planned.

Gabrielle continued a steady stride, bearing straight for the hall, the staircase and the soldiers ahead. Behind them, the troop of forty continued to bear down on them, moving cautiously forward.

With a furrowed brow, Mira followed her friend. "So…uh…what are we gonna do?"

With a calm and even look, Gabrielle drew her sword. "We're going right through them."

***

The air in the mansion had become variable, uncertain with the night's winds and the motion of the storm. As Eve moved through the halls, she moved through rooms still heavy with the heat of early morning and then on into chambers in the throes of the wind's influence. She passed a vase, broken on the floor, flowers spilled across the marble, petals adrift listlessly on the breeze.

Soon she had made her way to the rooftop balcony, encountering a swell of air as she left the shelter of the home. Eve shut her eyes, letting the wind sweep through her hair, across her face. She felt the air tremble an instant before thunder thrashed over her bowed head. The city flashed into sight as she opened her eyes just before an arc of lightning shattered over it.

In stark shadows, Rome appeared a cowering thing, hunched low and clinging to the faded river. Eve watched the tiny torchlights of Praetorian patrols pass throughout the city, along invisible pathways like fireflies spun in the breeze. She sighed at the ambiguity of the night.

"You know, you never officially asked if you could join me up here." It was Virgil, who had been sitting in silence shadowed by an overhanging arch of vines.

Eve smirked. "I'm sorry. Did I disturb you?"

"I was musing."

"Careful, if you get caught alone, musing in the dark one too many times, someone might go and actually take you seriously."

Virgil swaggered with roguish aplomb as he approached. "I'll always be able to avoid that sort of thing, my dear." He stood, swigging from his wineskin. "What brings you to such an exciting spot?"

"My feet."

"Very funny."

"No I-I'm serious." She became thoughtful. "I wasn't concentrating on going anywhere…just walking wherever my feet took me…"

The poet nodded. "The weather inspires such restlessness."

"Restlessness? No, I…" Eve stared off into the night, as though she had become lost inside her own skin.

Virgil stepped closer. "Is something wrong?"

"It…it's nothing…nothing to be concerned with…"

"I see. Well, that didn't sound convincing." The poet sat on a nearby ledge, scrutinizing his friend. "But far be it from me to call attention to someone who evades their personal woes." He opened his arms wide, dramatically taking in the entire roof. "Let's declare this rooftop a care-free zone."

With a grin, Virgil sprang to his feet and balanced himself on the edge of the roof, drinking more wine. Eve watched him, a smile springing to her face. "Virgil, be careful…" She watched him balanced there, the storm twisting behind him. The smile disintegrated slowly first from her eyes, then her lips.

Virgil looked out at the city. "Try as I might, I can never find it in my heart to hate this place."

"I can't say I have the same problem."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Eve stepped closer to the poet, to the ledge. "I grew up here, you know? I have good memories, happy memories from this place." She shrugged. "It's just that the bad ones outweigh the good."

"Is that entirely true?"

"What?"

Virgil turned to look into her eyes. "What I mean is: do you hate where you were, or who you were?"

"It's a legitimate question." Eve clasped her hands. "I suppose it's one I try to avoid answering on most days."

"Just run away, eh?" The poet stepped down from the ledge. "I've had a lot of experience with that."

"I suppose you can spend a lifetime doing it if you're not careful."

Virgil's gaze became distant, aimed inward. "Yes…yes, you could…" He sat on the ledge, legs dangling over.

Thunder rumbled overhead, groaning in the wake of lightning strikes. They watched the thick clouds twist and turn black and indigo and draped across the high vaults above. Eve sat on the ledge beside Virgil, nodding toward the sky. "This storm circles and circles but never breaks."

The poet drank from the skin. "Perhaps it's lost the nerve for such things…"

"You're silly."

"Maybe," he said, growing serious, brows folding. "But just because something can't escape its nature, doesn't mean it can't grow tired of it, as well."

Eve smiled uncertainly at his words. "A storm that wearies of…storming?"

"I would have used: raging, myself." He winked at her. "But yes, why not? Warlords grow tired of pillaging, yes?"

She smiled. "Some."

"And thieves of stealing?"

"Of course."

Virgil looked away. "And poets of…feeling…"

Eve turned to face him, as if seeing him for the first time. "Virgil…"

"The point is…" He sighed with a cheerful resignation. "Heh… I've forgotten my point. That's typical, isn't it? Right on the cusp of the profound but firmly entrenched in the mediocre…"

Neither spoke for some time, the moments stretched out, measured in the tentative roiling of the growing tempest. Finally, Eve sighed. "Perhaps it's afraid… the storm…"

"Fear?" Virgil's eyes brightened. "Hmm… What is it a storm might fear?"

The acolyte looked to her knotted hands. "Destiny, purpose-becoming what it is meant to be…"

"Ah yes…" He became somber. "Yes…"

Silence again. The storm strained above them. Eve wrung her fingers. "And isn't part of that fear-the unconscious, real part-the understanding that once purpose, destiny is fulfilled there will be only dissipation, death?"

"Yes…" The poet sighed, thinking about this. He took a thoughtful pull of wine, swallowing softly. Pushing a stray forelock of hair from his eyes, he turned to his friend, a small smile on his lips. "And sunrise."

Eve smiled sadly back at him. Remaining in a fragile silence, they continued to watch the storm grow over the city.

***

"We're what?" Mira's mouth hung open as she walked beside the warrior. She looked ahead and saw the Romans forming up on the staircases, steady, if not entirely sure what the two women might do. The girl glanced over her shoulder. The other force of Praetorians closed in, sealing off any chance of escape.

Gabrielle continued to stare forward, her form, her manner completely calm. "Listen to me," she said quietly. "No matter what happens, I want you to stay as close to me as possible." She handed her the bag of scrolls.

"B-but I'll just get in your way…"

"No." The warrior glanced sideways at Mira. "We stick together, remember?"

Mira smiled sadly. "I remember."

The warrior kept moving toward the soldiers. "I'm going to get you an opening at the top of the stairs and I want you to take it and run." She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the girl. "Understand?"

"I-I'm not leaving you." Mira was shaking. She tried to hide her hands, to still them. "You just said-"

"First things first, find us a way out then come back for me. But Mira-" She turned to the girl again. "If it comes to it; save yourself."

Mira shook her head, hoping her eyes would stop watering. "First things first."

As they took the last few strides into the tall chamber that housed the double staircase, Gabrielle held her sword out, keeping the Romans at a distance for the time being. Many of the soldiers had their swords drawn, while others upon the staircase fixed crossbows on the two friends. Mira tucked herself to Gabrielle's left side. The soldiers bringing up the rear closed in, many having to remain in the hall behind.

The delicately crafted marble staircases wound up to an ornate balcony. Along the wide stairs iron braziers on chains hung, lighting the large hall with a warm glow. Praetorians lined up in twos on every second step, their faces stern, their weapons fixed on Gabrielle and Mira.

A leader moved forward, stepping close to the point of Gabrielle's sword. "I don't have to tell you that escape is impossible." Crossing his arms, he gave a pleading look. "Surrender peacefully. None of us relish killing women and girls."

Gabrielle's gaze never left his. "There's no way we can do that."

There was laughter and insults from the soldiers. Mira shook, her teeth chattering together. All she could see were Roman faces, Roman helmets, and Roman swords, surrounding her-the smell of sweat rank in her nostrils. Her breathing stumbled upon itself, choking her.

"Surely you aren't serious?" The man chuckled, opening his arms. The uproar began to die down. "What can you possibly accomplish here with such stupidity and arrogance? Now I'm asking you again to surrender-" His expression went cold. "And this time I expect a different answer."

"How's this?" In a motion so economic, so fluid and quick that Mira hadn't recognized it as violent at first, Gabrielle passed the katanna through the man's shoulder and upper torso. The girl's first thought was that the warrior had only feinted at the man and hadn't actually hit him.

For a long moment it seemed as though nothing at all occurred. Time stretched out. The leader's face blanched, his eyes going glassy, his mouth hanging open at an awkward angle. Sharp intakes of breath spread and echoed into the high vaulted ceiling, armor rattled, swords unsheathed. Gabrielle reached for her belt, for the chakram.

Then time compressed into the quick flow of moments, flaring and then fading into the next. In a massive spray of blood, the leader's arm and shoulder dropped away from his body. Jets of gore rained on his open-mouthed troops.

"Now!" Gabrielle hurled the chakram in a sharp arc up the left staircase, along the wall where it severed the chain supporting the hanging lamp. As the pot of burning oil fell upon the soldiers on the staircase, the blade continued along to the next chain, with similar results. Praetorians screamed as they went up in flames, some falling from the stairs onto their comrades below.

Mira stuck close by the warrior, keeping her eye on the Romans all around them. Gabrielle took down two with quick slices of the katanna and spun around in time to parry an attack from behind. "Keep moving," she yelled to Mira as she killed two more Romans and moved slowly toward the now-burning stairs.

Blood sprayed everywhere and screams echoed through the chamber. Mira lost track of time. The girl had seen her friend kill before, but never to this degree, with this indiscretion. Gabrielle's posture, her speed and skill, her lack of emotion, it all reminded Mira of Nemesis, when the assassin had come out of the darkness for her. Mira rubbed at her eyes. Her fingers, her clothes-all covered in sprays of blood.

The guards were having trouble, as they could only get a few men into the fray at a time. In addition, it was difficult to draw a bead on the two women without having fellow soldiers get in the line of fire.

Gabrielle caught the returning chakram and used it to parry an attack. She chopped her assailant's head from his body. Still they moved closer to the staircase. With another throw, Gabrielle fired the chakram off a pillar just behind them letting it cause havoc in the crowd of soldiers there. Soon it ricocheted back towards the opposite staircase, freeing braziers and causing more fires and confusion.

They made it to the base of the stairs. Most of the soldiers who had stood upon it were incapacitated or dead, although a contingent had regrouped and were descending through the smoke and flames. Gabrielle fought off some guards and caught the chakram. "Get ready."

Mira coughed. "I-I'm ready…"

The warrior launched the chakram up the stairs at the charging men. "Now!"

They ran up the smoking stairs as sparks and screams erupted in front of them. Men fell at their feet and those left standing were dispatched by the swift strokes of the warrior's blade. She turned to Mira, after slicing through both of a guard's legs. "This is it."

With a chilling war cry, Gabrielle thrust forward at a group of five soldiers who stood fast at the top of the stairs. Her first strike felled two, one careening off of the balcony and falling. She used the chakram to parry when she couldn't with the katanna.

Mira kept moving as best as she could. Behind them, she could see the Romans regrouping, stepping over their dead comrades. There were still so many of them and they just kept coming. Ahead, the hallway at the top of the staircase was empty. She wanted to vomit, but regained herself.

Gabrielle prepared to engage the next large group of men. "Go!" she yelled at the girl.

Mira sprinted up through the smoke, up the last of the stairs and into the hallway beyond. She turned around once before running away. Gabrielle held the Romans at bay, but others approached, racing up the stairs to flank her. The warrior began fighting on both sides at the top of the landing.

Biting her lip, Mira ran down the hall, the sounds of battle echoing behind her.

***

Infinite now, the sounds of night were carried to Her on the troubled winds. Gently, She settled against the branches, high in a Roman pine overlooking the Domus Aurea and listened, separating each from the uniform wash of din. The creak of a sentry's leather armor as he paced the grounds; the rustle of dry leaves wandering upon the gusts; the clink of a metal chain-all drifted to Her ears. And beneath it all, the building pulse of the coming storm.

She looked down to the palace's balcony, empty, lit by two tall and wide braziers casting a sharp glow across its opulence and off into the nearby trees, the grounds below. The flames burned with hunger, fed by rich oils and the wind; they obscured what lay in the room beyond. Below the terrace, guards paced into the light and then off into darkness.

She leapt from the high branches and floated silently. Her cape swelled with the pollen-scented air, bearing Her softly over the wide gulf. Without a sound She lighted upon the marble of the balcony, between the raging braziers.

Again, She closed Her eyes throwing Her senses out into the night around Her. The guards still maundered on their patrols in the gardens, rustling the ferns that lay at their feet. With a lunge She darted from the light and into the Domus.

The chamber beyond was filled by Her reflection. Thousands of mirrors in hundreds of sizes adorned the asymmetrical features of the huge and empty hall. In the meager light, She had become momentarily dizzy, unable to gain bearings within the space. She stood slowly, letting Her senses feel their way about the hall before she continued on.

At its highest, the room was over a hundred feet and it was at least twice that in width and length. The mirrors cast images upon each other and back into infinity. Her image colored the room, casting it in crimson, casting it in black and silver and pale skin. She looked into Her face, Her eyes, losing Herself for a moment.

A doorway stood at the far end of the room. It had been hard to see at first because of the mirrors and its angle to the balcony. Settling Her breathing, She shook Her head and moved silently, with fixed intention towards it. She listened beyond the portal and heard only the sounds of water flowing.

The doorway opened into another large and expansive chamber, this one filled with trees, with flowers, even with its own babbling stream, passing through a tall window and out into the gardens outside the palace. Birds chirped in the exotic foliage, puffing their jewel-colored feathers, preparing for sleep. A mosaic path led forward to a bridge that arced over the brook.

Someone darted between the trees, disappearing with a laugh.

She passed along the tiles then up onto the bridge, which swelled out up to the edge of the ceiling-reaching window. Guards passed by in the night, oblivious to Her crossing. After the bridge, the mosaic path continued through more trees, winding casually toward a shadowed doorway beyond.

The doorway led into a dark hallway then on into red silk. Bolts of the cloth flowed across Her vision, spread across Her skin, as She entered a new room. As She gained bearings, She could see the fabric was affixed to the ceiling to Her right and to Her left and was blown by the night's wind passing through vents in the wall. The rush of silk disrupted Her vision, Her hearing and She pushed through, eager to be free of it.

Soon, She was beyond the whipping cloth but the low room continued forward, still adorned in the crimson fabric this time fastened from floor to ceiling. She glanced to the end of the long chamber, noting the darkened doorway at its climax. Torches burned in evenly placed sconces, casting everything in bloody hues.

Lining the walls just below Her eye level were what appeared to be masks of some kind. Narrowing Her eyes, She moved for a closer look. She realized quickly the masks were all renditions of the same person fashioned out of gold. Carefully approaching, She leaned forward to scrutinize the odd adornments. The blood drained from Her face.

Each mask was a perfect representation of the girl, the girl from Her memories. With each mask the girl wore a different expression, expressions She remembered, expressions She had wished to evoke or do everything possible to prevent. Agony, ecstasy, joy, pain, sorrow-each was rendered perfectly as if stolen from the heart in Her chest. She spun. There were dozens, all so familiar to Her.

Her fingers reached out to touch the pale golden skin of a soft smiling one-they trembled. The face looked as though poised to tumble into the sweet descent leading to a kiss. A name passed as a whisper over Her lips…

"Exquisite, aren't they?"

She started, turning toward the voice that had come from the doorway at the end of the room. A man, clothed only in a simple tunic, leered at Her. It was the Emperor Nero; She knew this at once. She straightened, trying to regain Herself. He leaned nonchalantly in the doorway.

"Quite a likeness as well, so I'm told." He gestured at the masks.

Her throat, Her mouth was dry.

Nero glanced toward the mask closest to him, reaching out to caress its cheek. "You can almost see the pulse beneath the skin." He winked. With an odd flourish, he pointed at a mask, one that wore a face painted in tragic pain, deep hurt and just under the surface, a growing rage. Closer inspection showed hints of bruising, of blood and swollen skin. "Now what do you suppose she was feeling here? Betrayal?" He turned to Her with a taunting air. "Was it you who betrayed her?"

She faltered, Her steps trailing off to a halt. The Emperor poked at another mask, this one frozen in the soft throes of ecstasy. "Pretty clear what she's feeling here, hmm?" He giggled. "You old devil, you."

Meridian quivered on Her back. She growled softly and drew it from its scabbard. The blade trembled with a reassuring pulse in Her hands.

"Not an art lover, eh?" the Emperor tittered.

She moved toward the unarmed man, ready to carry out Her master's bidding. In the periphery, She could sense Her reflection upon each and every one of the masks as She passed.

Nero noted this. "You recognize the woman, do you?" he asked, still apparently unfazed by Her rapid approach. He stepped from the doorway, moving to the wall, passing along it. "Yet you do not know yourself." He met Her gaze. "Isn't that right?"

Her charge wavered slightly, but She pushed on, altering to compensate for his movement.

He leaned against the wall, beside an angry, spiteful version of the mask. "All of this must just raise more and more questions, hmm?" Nero's face contorted into mock-sympathy. "How terrible it must be-to have so many memories and so many questions upon questions…" He smiled cruelly. "Yet too, too few answers."

Meridian slumped as Her pace slowed to a disoriented shuffle. Her limbs threatened to shake free of Her body. The very blood in Her veins seemed to leech away. She panted, Her teeth bared.

The Emperor crossed his arms, watching Her as a child might watch the death throes of an insect they have meticulously pulled apart. "What if I could answer some of those questions?"

She blinked at him.

Nero's grin darkened. "What if I could answer all your little questions about-" He paused for effect. "Gabrielle?"

She screamed and lunged for the man. Meridian arced like lightning for the soft and giving flesh of his neck, quivering and hungry in Her grip.

Instead, Her swing met steel. Sparks erupted as a blade appeared from through the wall of silk, stopping the assassin's attack just shy of Nero's body. The Emperor laughed hysterically as he stepped away. The wall appeared to be pushing outward as if coming to life around the focal points of the spiteful mask, the blade. The sound of fabric straining, ripping filled the room.

Meridian was locked in the sword's parry, pushed back into the room as the silk stretched. With a shove, She was disengaged and thrown back as the cloth ripped. A woman stepped through the wounded fabric into the room, blade in hand. The exquisite and terrible gold mask covered her face.

Nero smiled at Her from behind the woman. "Quite the trick, hmm?" he said. "Right up there with walking on water." Here he met Her gaze with a smoldering leer. "Or maybe coming back from the dead."

Everything was red and it throbbed relentlessly. Her vision had become blurry at the sides, Her face slick with tears. She steeled Herself, stepping back and placing Meridian in a defensive position at Her side. The masked woman stepped forward ready for a swift and deadly attack.

***

Mira heard only the sounds of her own heartbeat and belabored breathing. She ran down a small hallway, lit feebly by a single oil lamp. She hadn't stopped running since…

_Gods…_

Ahead she could see a brighter hall and slowed to jog. The sound of marching armor could be heard. Mira crouched low in the thick shadows, trying to silence her breaths. A troop of ten soldiers jogged with a dangerous purpose past her. She closed her eyes, knowing where they were going. Soon, they had passed, the sounds of their footsteps fading down the hall toward the distant echo of battle.

With a sigh, Mira wiped at her cheek. It came away sticky and wet. Even in the muddy light, she could see the dark splotches left on her hands. She was covered in blood. The girl retched as quietly as possible when she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor.

It had been as though Gabrielle had been possessed, had been some unholy thing, like a living weapon, terrible, unstoppable. She had seen Gabrielle fight tens of men before, but never that many or with that sort of horrifying efficiency. During the chaos, the girl had seen the look in the warrior's eyes, a cold and deadly calm. Mira felt sad for her friend, now understanding at least a part of the darkness she carried upon her shoulders. Mira remembered the scrolls she had read, the voice of the bard who wrote them, the joy that had been so apparent. Oh, Gabrielle…

She couldn't imagine killing anyone. Stealing from them made her guilty enough usually, but taking a life was something for which she had no frame of reference. She gave a silent prayer to any gods who would listen that she never did.

The girl got to her feet and, after peeking around the corner, tore off down the hall. Hopefully she could find a way out for them both before anything terrible happened.

The hall was long and opened into several rooms, none leading to anywhere useful. After turning down another passage, Mira came to a large double door that was slightly ajar. Placing her ear against it, she found that it was safe to continue. It opened onto a wide balcony. She could see darkness up ahead, and she could feel wind. Walking to the edge of the balcony she looked down to find a wide courtyard. Thunder and lightning broke overhead. She cursed to herself. The courtyard didn't lead out of the library.

"Mira, up here," a familiar voice, heard just over the howling wind, whispered from above.

Startled, the girl looked up. Narses grinned down at her from the roof one floor above. Mira scowled. "Thanks for the diversion," she said with a caustic sneer.

The thief feigned hurt. "I'm here now."

"I'm sure you'll be a big help this time."

"You made it to this point just fine without me," he said. "I knew you would and since I need you alive to collect my pay, I'm here now." He flashed his teeth. "Besides, I have a rope." The Roman dangled a rope in his right hand.

Mira rubbed her jaw. It was a quick climb to the roof from where she was and there really wasn't a lot of time to argue about it. If the thief wasn't here when they returned, they could still get to the roof.

"Fine," she said.

Almost in a daze, Mira sprinted back along the passages she had taken. With every step the sounds of battle, of steel clashing, of men dying drew near. Smoke hung in ribbons on the air as she got closer. Hold on, Gabrielle…

She rounded the final corner to find the warrior holding off several soldiers in the arch before the staircase, another man slumped, dying at her feet. The bodies of dozens of other Praetorians were scattered in various states of slaughter around Gabrielle's feet. Fire and smoke still poured in from the chamber before as Romans continued to attack.

"Gabrielle!" Mira called out.

The warrior turned to see the girl motion to her and began to back off, using the chakram to halt the regrouping guards. After mortally wounding several more, Gabrielle began to sprint away from the Praetorians. "Mira, run!" she yelled at the girl. "Run!"

Mira led them in a fierce sprint through the halls toward their point of escape. Gabrielle managed to catch up to the girl, her face spattered in blood, her eyes honed and focused. "You found a way out?" she asked.

"Up to the roof, yeah." Mira scowled. "I found Narses, too."

Gabrielle's eyes widened as she looked ahead. "Look out!"

A soldier had jumped out of a room brandishing a spear. Gabrielle hurled the chakram at the weapon, severing it into two pieces that split uselessly from the man's hands. With a quick attack, the warrior slashed the katanna's blade across his chest. Mira and Gabrielle continued along the hallway.

Soon they were approaching the double doors. They passed through and onto the balcony. Mira's heart sank. There was no sign of Narses. "That rat," she cursed.

"Lila, Sarah, over here." Further along the balcony Narses climbed down the rope. "The only thing I could tie the rope to was up there."

Gabrielle smiled at Mira. "If we're dead, he doesn't get paid."

"I guess." Mira was uneasy; she bit at a nail.

They approached the thief. Gabrielle looked over the balcony into the courtyard. "Standard Roman procedure is a quick regrouping before giving pursuit."

Narses nodded as he stepped away from the rope. "We have time, but we should make haste."

Mira tested the rope, still feeling odd for some reason. Probably 'cause we have like, a hundred Romans chasing us…

The warrior looked across the courtyard, squinting into the darkness. "What's across there?"

"The rest of the library." The thief stood next to her, glancing where she did. "Why?"

"I hear flowing water." Gabrielle tilted her head. "A sewer maybe?"

"Wait." Behind them, Mira's eyes widened. She turned to Narses. "You-you called me Mira."

"What?" The thief didn't turn around. "I called you Sarah."

"No. Before." Mira stepped closer. "You called me Mira before. How would you-"

Narses became a blur as he slammed his fist into the side of Gabrielle's skull and toppled her over the edge of the balcony. Mira darted forward, grabbing uselessly for her falling friend. "No!" An instant later a terrible sound of flesh meeting cobbles echoed through courtyard.

Narses shoved her away, slamming her against the nearby wall. "It would be wise to surrender now." The Roman moved toward her, drawing a knife from his jacket. His face warped with a dangerous leer. "Members of the German Guard don't have the same scruples other soldiers do about killing women and children."

***

She found it hard to tear Her gaze from the reflection-Her reflection-playing across Her opponent's mask. When She could focus, the mask itself, the likeness sank a distracting ache deep in Her breast. The masked woman moved in, her strides causing a rush of air in her wake.

The attack was quick and She barely had time to parry it. Sparks erupted from the clash of swords and they locked blades. Nero watched with admiration.

"Octavia is quite the hostess," he said. "Leading the dance like this."

The blades remained entangled, the two of them matching strength. She was the stronger, but Octavia used her balance effectively to remain equal. They strained against one another.

The mask stared with its spiteful gaze into Her eyes. She could see Her face reflected upon its pale gold skin, could see Her teeth bared, Her growing frustration. She could see pain reflected there, as well. Meridian shifted with a questioning pulse as Her grip faltered…

_I can smell the ocean, the scent of brine churning against the rocks._

_The tang of freshly churned soil, too, upset by horse's hooves, the body-your body-dragging behind it._

_And the stink of Amazon oils, perfumes still thick on your skin, the air._

_This mélange I will always remember, it will be etched cold in my memory as the essence, the scent of hatred._

_I thought you dead, laying there in the grass, a broken, twisted insect. But the gods grant my wish; when I touched you, lifted you over my head, I felt your stubborn, traitor's pulse. No matter what pain I unleash upon you, none of it is enough to end your suffering._

_I'll enjoy trying…_

_You stopped me, kicked me in the face. My wrath made me sloppy-it always has. Now this will be more fun, more fulfilling._

_The look, the pained, betrayed look on your bloody, bruised face brings joy to my heart, and I ignore the parts that try to tell me how wrong this all is._

_Then you say the words, those three words I've been waiting for. The three words that will be my legacy to you for the short time you have left…_

_-I hate you!_

Octavia disengaged and returned to the offensive. The woman's flurry of overhand slashes and side swipes threw Her off balance and She brought Meridian up, blocking more out of desperation than skill. Darkness rippled across the blade's surface, as though it were angry at Her lack of resolve, Her loss of focus. The bodyguard feinted with her sword then planted a powerful roundhouse kick to Her exposed abdomen, knocking the air from Her lungs and staggering Her back off balance.

The woman backed off, swiping at the air. Nero applauded, his claps smacking sharply in the small room. "Brava, my dear. Brava." He smirked. Octavia nodded in acknowledgement.

The Emperor turned to Her now, shaking his head sadly and sighing. "You really are distracted by all of this, aren't you?" he said, indicating the masks on the wall, on Octavia's face. "Who is she? Who is this Gabrielle?"

She held Meridian out, a pathetic gesture to hold off an attack. Her hands trembled feebly from the end of shivering arms, shaking shoulders. Nothing She did could stop it. The faces looked back at Her from the walls-smiling, crying, tightened in fear, tumbling with desire. And within Her a corresponding echo reacted to each.

Nero moved closer now, his eyes glinting with danger. "Who was she? Hmm?" He watched Her expression twist, flickering like the erratic flame of a candle. A jubilant grin played across his face. "You don't know for sure, do you?"

Her knees weakened. Nero moved closer still, this time walking in front of Octavia though still off to the side. "I can help, you know?" He met Her gaze. "I can help you find out-and I can help you find Gabrielle."

_How did everything come to this? Your face twisted in anger, in hatred-my heart the same way. Lost in this place between worlds. I can't stop it, can't stop you -- can't help you._

_-I hurt inside! Don't you?_

_And I do. Of course I do._

_How can I not?_

_Our love, our life together all it has led to is hatred, destruction--to chaos and death._

_That is what this is all about, isn't it? Solan, Hope, they aren't dead because of you or I-but because of you and I._

_And this twists inside of me like the cruelest edge of a blade…_

_Somehow, I sing…_

Darkness welled within Her and She lashed out at the smug Emperor. Octavia was faster, her blade intercepting the attack. Nero backed off as the two women fought once more. The bodyguard kept her attacks low to the ground, keeping Her off balance and forcing Her to shift around so that She faced the blowing silk of the entranceway.

The wrath within Her breast continued to churn, spurring Her on the offensive. Quick attacks shifted the momentum of the battle and the tumult behind Her eyes receded. She began to use Her strength as well as Her speed, delivering a series of crushing blows that the bodyguard parried frantically-each one threatening to shatter the bones in the women's arms.

A wicked grin began to form on Her face. With a full spin, She landed a powerful punch in the direct center of the mask, buckling it. It was deformed, ruined, hanging oddly off the bodyguard's face. Octavia backed away for a moment, ripping the mask free and throwing it aside. Her lip was swollen and bleeding.

They locked blades once again. Nero moved closer. "I can help you find out who you were too, you know?" he said. She growled at him and he laughed. "I can. Although-" he paused. "I'm not sure you're going to like what you find out…"

The anger grew and grew, exploding free from Her in a shrill and fierce battle cry. Through the vents in the wall the rumble of thunder could be heard, the wind picked up, tossing the silk about in waves of crimson. She brought Meridian down at them. Octavia parried with a wide swing, pushing the dark blade aside. Then with a quick flourish, the Emperor and his bodyguard disappeared behind the wisps of fabric.

She swung through the cloth; bits of it sliced free and blew away. The bolts of silk fluttered, slowing with the dying breeze.

The room was empty, save for Her-and the mask. It lay twisted, distorted by Her blow, though the likeness was still obvious, still confusing to Her, slipping away…

_…slipping away, falling into the flames… You, Hope…_

_"Gab-" The heat, the shock steals my breath, chokes me so I cannot even finish your name._

_Gods, Gabrielle…what have you done?_

She stood there trembling. Her shoulders slumped and tendrils of hair fell before Her eyes. Meridian was loose in Her grip. Without warning, Her knees buckled and She dropped to the ground. A sigh broke from Her then and Her free hand slapped against the marble floor, trying to steady Herself. More tears trailed down Her cheeks, more sobs broke from Her.

"No," She spat through clenched teeth.

Her knuckles whitened. With straining muscles She forced Herself to stand, to move. The anger returned, the resolve. The blade came to life once more in Her hand and spurred Her forward.

With bold strides She pushed through the delicate nimbus of blowing silk into the chamber beyond.

***

Mira remained in the spot she had been standing in when Gabrielle had been knocked over the edge of the balcony, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. As badly as she wanted to look over the railing for her friend, she dared not do so while Narses held her at bay with the wicked looking knife. There was no time to give in to the urge to crumple to the floor and sob uncontrollably. Clenching her teeth, she sneered at Narses. "So, I guess you've been playing us from the beginning."

"Oh child," he laughed. "From even before that. From the moment you left the villa this morning. Your one chance for figuring things out was when that patrol stopped us this afternoon. 'North of the Horselands' was a codeword Praetorians were informed about." The Roman sighed dramatically. "It would have been best if you never learned of my true allegiance." He looked unfavorably at the building. "But seeing as these fools couldn't catch a sleeping turtle that was handed to them. When it appeared as though you might escape, I had to become more…proactive."

Mira had never felt such rage for a person. "Sorry you had to be a rat and a murderer, rather than just a plain old rat."

"While this banter has always been rather entertaining, I would advise full co-operation." Narses motioned to her again with the knife. "Time is of the essence for you, my dear," he spoke softly though still cruelly. "After all, your friend may yet be alive."

Mira hadn't thought of that. The fall was only about thirty feet. She had been too shocked, too scared to remember just how tough the warrior really was. The girl had witnessed it firsthand many times, had heard countless stories. She steadied herself and sneered at the Roman. "What do you want?"

"For a start: those." The Roman took the bag of scrolls from Mira. She spat at him. Narses leered back at her with an unsettling menace. "And information, mostly." He waved it off. "But there will be plenty of time for all that."

Mira didn't like the sound of any of it. She seriously considered throwing herself over the balcony. Narses wouldn't have been able to catch her. She might even land uninjured.

A sound came from the hallway-a heavy, uneven shuffle of feet-interrupting her train of thought. Narses glanced out the door. "You there, Praetorian, are you badly injured?"

A soldier limped through the door, no helmet on his head but a long slash across his chest. "It looks worse than it is," he said hoarsely. "And you are?" he asked.

Narses became irritated by the injured man; a harsh exhalation erupted from him. "This is all you need know." He lifted the sleeve of his shirt revealing his upper bicep upon which was the tattoo Mira had noticed earlier.

The soldier snapped to attention, as best as he could. "Sorry, sir. How can I help?"

Narses grinned at Mira. "Keep an eye on this girl, she's an enemy of the Empire."

The soldier nodded. "I know."

"Wait here until I return," Narses ordered. "The troops need to be redeployed and the mess needs to be cleaned up before I can deal with her." He glared at Mira who fought the chill it sent through her body.

"What about Gabrielle?" Mira blurted out.

"Oh, her." Narses paused, appearing to be bothered. He carefully inspected the edge of his blade then winked at Mira. "I'll get around to making sure she's dead soon enough…"

Mira lunged for the Roman only to have the wounded guard hold her back, shoving her against the balcony. With a toxic grin, Narses left them.

"Get offa me!" Mira wriggled free of the soldier's grip and slumped against the marble. Sighing, she stared down into the dark courtyard. She looked at the guard, trying to figure out if she could overpower him somehow. He is hurt, after all…

He stared back at her. "I knew you were trouble," he said.

"Huh?"

He laughed softly. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

The voice suddenly registered in her memory. It was the guard who had let her into the gallery. "You're Brunus."

"Right." He nodded, smiling bitterly. "I knew you were trouble, but you reminded me of my sister."

Not wanting to, Mira smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He gestured to the wound in his chest. "Look where that got me."

"Uh yeah…sorry about that," Mira said, shifting uncomfortably. "Gabrielle is-" she paused for a moment, then continued, "-she's a good person, really."

"We're all good people." The soldier scowled. "Janian was a good person." His face darkened. "Your friend cut him down like a dog in the street."

Mira sighed in total frustration. She needed to get to the courtyard somehow and soon. "Please…Look, I know you're a good man, Brunus… Please, let me go down to the courtyard and see if my friend is alive…"

"I don't know…"

"You could come with me."

"Oh, like last time?" The soldier sneered in anger. "I don't think so."

Mira slumped again, tears welling in her eyes. She fought them, cursing herself and clenching her fists.

_Crying… as usual… Captured…as usual… Stupid little kid…_

_And now Gabrielle is…_

_Not yet…_

Mira wiped quickly at her eyes, clenching her jaw tightly as she straightened herself. Thunder crept in low rumbles across the sky above the city. Brunus looked over the side of the balustrade into the darkness. Mira watched him, leaning onto her feet.

_Distracted… Only chance…_

Without thinking, Mira lunged at him grabbing for his throat. They struggled back against the marble, sliding along the edge. While the man was injured, he was still much stronger than she and his grip on her wrists hurt. Mira sank her teeth into the guard's wrist and he yowled in pain, letting go of her.

"Stop it!" he yelled. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then let me go!"

"I can't."

He lunged for her again. Mira grabbed for the man's wound, raking her nails across it. With a cry, he pushed away from her, not compensating for his position and over stepping. For a long moment he teetered off balance, a look of terror, a look of silent appeal to Mira. Then, without a sound, he dropped over the edge and into the darkness. A sickening crack followed shortly after.

Not knowing how long she stood there in silence, Mira first realized she was standing with her hand over mouth when she felt tears running down her wrist. Maybe she had been unable to move out of shock, she just remembered wanting to stay as still, as silent as possible, hoping she might hear something stir in the courtyard. Drawing in her breath sharply, she removed her hand.

_Gods…Oh, gods…_

The wind howled, blowing Mira's hair about her head. Blinking, she came back to the moment. She moved to the rope Narses had left and managed to uncoil it. Wiping tears away, she fastened it securely to the balcony and lowered herself silently to the courtyard below. Her eyes adjusted and she was able to make out two crumpled shapes. She thought she saw one of them move.

"G-Gabrielle?"

A faint groan. Mira ran to the prone figure. It was the warrior, alive. The girl began to cry. "Gods, are you…are you okay?"

There was a cough-or was that a laugh?-and the warrior stirred. "Yeah…uhn… just…just great…"

Mira nodded. "Can you get to your feet? We have to get out of here, like, now."

Gabrielle groaned as she lifted herself to a sitting position. Mira could see blood trickling down the side of the woman's face. "Your head…"

"It's okay…" The warrior winced, grabbing her side. "My ribs are worse." They stood and began to ready themselves. Gabrielle whispered hoarsely. "Let's go."

"They-they got the scrolls, Gabrielle." Mira bit her lip. "They got the passwords…"

With a grin constructed from the leftover bits of a wince, Gabrielle shook her head. "Not exactly." She lifted a piece of armor revealing two of the scrolls tucked neatly inside.

"How?" The girl's mouth hung open. "When?"

The warrior gave a wink. "I have many skills…"

Mira laughed. "Great, so now how do we get out of here?"

"This way." The warrior led them across the courtyard toward the sound of flowing water. "We're taking the sewers…"

As they walked, Mira found it impossible to ignore the broken looking shadow that was Brunus' body laying behind them in the darkness. Even after the form faded, his face remained in her vision, even when her eyes were closed his voice was in her ears. She was left to wonder, as she followed in Gabrielle's wake, if the look in his eyes as he stumbled over the ledge would ever fade from her memories, or instead remain as some black ache through her insides for the rest of her days.

Thunder echoed above them and Mira softly prayed for the rain before continuing on out of the courtyard.

***

She passed through the doorway onto the path of tiles. Within the wide expanse of the chamber, the sounds of birds and of the running stream were all that could be heard.

Trees-pines, cypresses and oaks had been transplanted here. Their branches stretched toward the high ceiling. Torches lit the room, suspended in crude iron sconces on the walls casting fleeting shadows of the limbs across the floor. Walking cautiously, She moved along the path. Her feet made no sound.

Ahead, beyond the stretch of trees, on the bridge She had crossed earlier, stood Nero, the smug look still playing across his face. There was no sign of Octavia. She moved for him, Her strides strong and unwavering.

As She passed beneath an oak, a faint rustle could be heard at Her shoulder. She pivoted quickly on Her left foot, having just enough time to bring Meridian forward into a parry against Octavia. The bodyguard had dropped from the tree and sped forward in a fierce attack. The swords rang loudly as the woman struck then passed by and carried on and up into the canopy of trees.

Nero chuckled from the bridge. His voice carried easily through the hall. "You'd better watch that one," he said. "Especially if your mind isn't in this, hmm?"

She began to stride toward him, as determined as before. The Emperor remained untroubled. "And where is your head at, I wonder?" He chuckled, knowingly, the sound ringing hollow over the sound of the water. "As if I have to ask…"

_The moment is perfect._

_The seabirds in the distance, the sound of the waves below, the approaching sunset…_

_-A poem? Sappho wrote a poem for me. I don't believe it. You had this planned all along, didn't you?_

_You shiver with surprise at the present, but your smile is a gift to me._

_"There's a moment when I look at you and no speech is left in me._  
My tongue breaks. Then fire races under my skin and I tremble.  
And grow pale for I am dying of such love or so it seems to me…" 

_I watch as you read, the words reflect what I feel, but you are the poem in my heart._

_When it is done, you smile warmly, a woman's smile-no longer a girl's. And there is love in it…_

_-It's beautiful. This is the best birthday present I have ever had…_

"I bet you're wondering how I know all of this, hmm?" Nero winked mockingly at Her. She blinked at him, still clouded of action. He smirked. "Sorry, can't tell. It would ruin the big surprise, but…" He paused dramatically. "I can bring her to you, you know?"

Nero smirked at Her. She had stopped, still far from the bridge, on the path below the trees. He nodded at Her. "You want her. You need her. She has the answers, doesn't she?" He grinned. "The answers to everything."

Octavia fell from the trees, charging forward to attack. Their swords met again in sparks, and again the bodyguard continued on and into the trees where she disappeared.

She stood, fingers beginning to tremble.

Nero continued. "She's here in the city--but of course you knew that, yes?" He chuckled. "Had a few run-ins, didn't you?"

Her mouth fell open; lip trembled. There were more tears.

"Oh, yes." The Emperor clasped his hands together in glee. "It was her you saw. Make no mistake."

_…The girl's death will be regrettable-a sad necessity, one of many. She runs for her life, even strikes me when I become careless, over confident. But this is my master's temple and his will shall be enforced._

_Finally, she stumbles, falls to the ground in a heap. I will make it quick, even painless if my swing is true enough._

_There is a buzzing swelling in my ears. Not the visions…not…_

_Something strikes Meridian, knocking my hand aside. I turn._

_-Step away from her._

_By her stance, her weapon, I know it is the warrior, the one my master wishes dead. But her face, she is the girl from my visions; she is the face from so many of my memories._

_She is--_

Nero's voice brought Her back. "As I told you, I can bring her to you," he said. "For a small price, of course-a service, really."

She stepped forward, slower now but gaining momentum.

"It wouldn't be any trouble at all," Nero continued. "Just a little trip to the mountains, a stop in some ruins-you'd be back by the end of the week."

She broke into a run. The bodyguard dropped to the path and slashed at Her legs. The blade found the flesh of Her thigh, carving a shallow gash. Octavia turned to continue the assault, but She was ready now. She stepped into a quick three-strike attack sending the Roman back toward a thick pine. With a spin, She unleashed a kick to the chest that sent the bodyguard hurtling into the trunk of the tree.

Octavia recovered quickly and launched herself into the branches above. She followed, springing easily after the woman. They swung at each other and parried as they climbed to the high boughs. Birds scattered from the trees, flying in distress to the ceiling and finding no escape, swirling around the dome in terror.

She leaped to a branch parallel and higher than that of Her opponent, then brought a two-handed chop down upon her. Octavia brought her blade up to parry, but the force of the blow pushed her off balance. With a quick kick to the stomach, She knocked the woman out of the tree to the ground, where she landed full force on her back.

Meridian quaked in hunger as She dropped from the boughs, holding the blade in a downward stab for the center of Her prey's chest. Her cape snapped behind Her. Octavia rolled at the last moment and the blade sank into the soft ground. The bodyguard ran for the bridge and She followed.

Nero and his bodyguard had moved to the tall window that reached for the ceiling high above. He leaned against the railing with darkness behind him, as Octavia stood before him, sword at the ready. The Emperor smiled as she approached. "You haven't given me an answer yet," he said. "It's an easy task, as I have said. You'd return soon and she'd be waiting."

She ran at them. Octavia readied herself and their swords clashed with a terrible ring. The bodyguard locked their blades, shifting her weight.

"It would be no trouble at all. It's something you're made for." Nero laughed maniacally. "Or re-made for, to be more specific, yes?"

She fought for the advantage, watching the edge of Her blade shift in darkness…

_…The darkness weighs heavy here, pressing in through the eyes, as if after a long slumber. I am naked, cold. Steam rises from me as my vision adjusts in the twilight._

_I do not know who I am, or where this is…_

_There is a word I wish to say, a name-somehow I know if I do, things will be made clear…_

_-G-Gabrielle?_

_Two figures move in the darkness, shadows half-remembered-a man and a woman, a sister and a brother…_

_-I thought I told you to nix the memories, sis._

_-That one isn't so easy…you knew that…_

_I try the name again, for comfort if nothing else…_

_And then I remember._

_I need to stand, to get out of here, somehow. This is wrong, it is all so wrong…_

_-Uh, sis, step in any time here, huh?_

_And all is darkness again…_

She screamed, batting Octavia's blade away, pushing the woman toward the window. Nero moved out of the way as the bodyguard slammed into the railing, her head striking the thick window glass. Collapsing in a daze, she struggled to pull herself to her feet.

She fell upon the woman, slicing down for her neck in a fatal arc. Octavia fell out of the way and Meridian sliced through the thick marble, shattering a large chunk free. The bodyguard was pelted with debris from the railing as she shot to her feet to counter attack. They exchanged a flurry of blows, spinning about one another.

Soon, She was able to secure the advantage once more. Her attacks fell upon the woman with a ferocity that could not be matched. It would only be a matter of time.

Octavia leaped up to the railing and backed along it, away from Her. She slashed with Meridian for the woman's feet, but she jumped over the swing. Out of frustration, She spun, arcing Her cape at the woman. Octavia leaped forward off of the railing and away as the deadly end of the cloak struck the window.

The window erupted into a pouring wall of thick shards falling toward the grounds outside, onto the bridge, onto Her. Fragments large and small struck Her, slashed Her, drew blood and She fell back. The winds entered the room pushing Her cloak, the branches of the trees. The birds, finally free, pushed by Her in a wild and colorful caravan.

"My birds!" Nero exclaimed ambivalently.

Blood clotted on Her exposed skin. Her eyes were wild, Her mouth open. The glass fell as if time had slowed, flowing in shimmering torrents like a waterfall…

_…the waterfall… Solan is behind the waterfall…_

_You turn to me, smiling._

_-He's why we're here. It's the way out. It's gotta be. He's here to lead us home. Come on._

_You run ahead, stepping up and through the falling water._

_So easy…_

_Before I even try, I know something is not right-that there is something I am forgetting._

_I stop._

_-I can't…_

Octavia leaped at Her with a quick strike, knocking Her off the bridge and into the brook. She swallowed water; it was cold and painful in Her lungs. With a groan, She got to Her hands and knees, got to air. Coughing, She tried to see where She was. A blow to Her back pushed Her under again and a weight fell on Her then. Octavia had straddled Her back and drove Her into the stones at the bottom of the stream.

Beneath the rushing shallows, She felt Her limbs grow weak as She began to drown.

***

Even in the sewers, thunder could be heard crashing in the world above.

Due to the drought, the runoff from the library was at a minimum. Water levels were low, although it still flowed loudly along the trench at the center of the tunnel. As a result, it seemed more offensive than one might assume normal. Odors of decay and rot filled their nostrils. The walls were coated in fungus and algae choked the trough along the center. Rats could be seen, darting into holes with a squeak as they tried to escape the crashing above.

Gabrielle recovered enough to walk without a limp now, guided them in silence along one side. She squinted ahead in the sparse light. Far down the tunnel, at the next torch, there was a ladder leading up. She pointed. "That probably leads to the street-maybe near the Forum." The warrior squinted. "Might be far enough away." Not paying attention to her footing, Gabrielle slipped on a slick cobble, jarring herself severely. Her ribs throbbed with a steady pain, each intake of breath like needles in her lungs. I've really got to stop hurting those… The warrior coughed in order to mask the groan of pain that escaped from her. She looked to see if the girl had noticed.

Mira walked beside her, a bleak and withdrawn look upon her face. Gabrielle put her hand on the girl's back, rubbing it in comfort. "Hey, the hard part's done." She grinned. "I thought you liked the escaping and running for our lives part."

The girl approximated a smile. "I…I do."

They continued along in silence for several paces, thunder ringing in the distance. The torch grew closer in the flowing darkness. Mira sighed. "Killing doesn't become easier…for you, does it?"

The warrior's face darkened. Finally, she shook her head. "Knowing when it's necessary does."

Mira thought about that. "Isn't there always a way to avoid it?"

They arrived in the radius of torchlight, at the base of the tunnel up and out to the street. Gabrielle paused and looked at the girl for a moment. "We couldn't be captured back there, Mira. At least one of us had to escape-too much was at stake." She shook her head. "While it's always regrettable, sometimes killing is unavoidable."

"You could have died." Mira had tears in her eyes.

"Hey." Gabrielle hugged the girl to her, favoring her ribs. "I knew I could get past the Romans-I had to." She whispered. "I wasn't going to leave you this time."

Mira bit her lip. "Gabrielle…I…"

"Don't worry ab-"

"I killed someone."

Wind could be heard dragging refuse across the top of the sewer grate above their heads. Gabrielle's mouth was agape. "What?"

Mira looked away. "I killed someone… a guard… Brunus… that was his name…"

"No Mira, you couldn't…" The warrior held the girl by the shoulders. "It was self-defense?" Mira just stared at her. "An accident, right?"

"Does it matter?" With a mournful sigh, Mira lowered her head and began to tremble in the torchlight.

Gabrielle steeled herself and pulled her friend to her in an embrace. "It'll be okay, I promise." She cupped the girl's face in her hands. "We need to get out of here, okay?"

The girl inhaled deeply and nodded. "Okay…" She swallowed hard.

Nodding grimly to her friend, Gabrielle started to climb the ladder to streets above. The warrior grunted in pain as her ribs ached terribly with each rung. Finally reaching the top, she paused at the grate and listened. Distant voices could be heard, faint and to the left of their position. Over it all, the growing roar of the wind, the crashing of thunder, and now, through the holes in the steel, the flash of lightning. The warrior sniffed through the grate. "The storm should hit within an hour."

They climbed out to the street, cautious and quick. After a swift turn of her head, Gabrielle placed them just off the Forum, southwest of the library. The sewer grate had opened up in a covered alley between two low shops on a quiet backstreet. The warrior relaxed momentarily. Not a bad time for our luck to change to good, she thought.

Refuse blew and tumbled through the streets, swirling on the gritty air. The two friends squinted against the bluster as they crept through the narrow lanes, cutting toward the north. They made their way in this manner for half a candlemark, until they had almost cut around to the northwestern edge of the Forum at the base of the Capitoline hill.

In the distance, high, shrill on the air a horn sounded. Soon after, a second followed, holding its note. Other sounds of alarm went up.

"Is that for us?" Mira asked, her eyes wide.

"Follow me." Gabrielle led them up to a rooftop. Lightning arced over their heads and the rushing boom of thunder shook their bodies as they climbed. The warrior looked out across the nearby expanse of the Forum. The alarms continued to blare and men began to race away to the east. Praetorians, members of the Urban Cohorts-even the Vigiles appeared to be mobilizing and on the move. Shouts went up as citizens, startled awake by the constant alarms left their homes to see what the commotion was.

"Gods! Look!" Gabrielle pointed to the east.

A halo of terrible orange light began to swell, its reflection growing wide across the underbelly of the storm. The unmistakable smell of smoldering wood grew pungent on the winds. Rome was burning.

"The city…the buildings are so dry…" Mira's thought trailed off as a flash of light winked in the eastern hills just beyond the Forum and a second later a boom that was not thunder sounded. A fireball lifted into the sky causing a wave of gasps and screams from the denizens of the city below them.

Gabrielle turned to Mira. "We need to get you back to the mansion."

"What about you?"

The warrior was already leaving the rooftop and descending to the street. When they hit the street, Gabrielle led them back along some of the paths they had traveled earlier. "There was a stable back this way…"

Animal smells surrounded them as they approached a ramshackle building that served as a stable to two old horses. Gabrielle ducked inside, leading a tired, but noble-looking mare out to the street. She smiled. "She isn't the greatest, but she'll get you to the mansion."

"You didn't answer my question." Mira shook her head. "What about you?"

The warrior narrowed her eyes. "People are dying out there Mira."

"I can help."

Gabrielle put her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Yes, by getting to safety." She looked down. "You've been through enough tonight already."

"But-"

"Mira." Gabrielle met the girl's eyes. "There's no time."

Mira nodded in dark resignation and obvious exhaustion. The warrior embraced her then led her to the horse. The girl turned. "Be careful."

"You too."

Thunder and lightning erupted around them, as Mira climbed onto the horse's back. The two friends shared a look then Gabrielle climbed to the rooftops, disappearing into the uncertain night overhead.

***

_Darkness and cold water surround us._

_You shiver in my arms. Gods, you are dying. Not tonight, but by tomorrow night-unless I do something. How can I leave you here? Or anywhere?_

_Here you will just fade and out there… I can smell the cannibals' fires..._

_You mumble something, as formless as the ripples of water I can feel emanating from our movements. I put my cheek near your lips. Your breathing comforts me. You speak again…_

_-Hope?_

_-Did you say something?_

_-My baby. My baby. Is that you?_

_Gods, you sound so young. As young as you were when…_

_It is so hard to speak. It's hard to breathe even. Words, air caught in my throat, lungs._

_I can only answer you._

_-Yeah, it's me._

_-I love you. I would never hurt you. You know that, don't you?_

_Oh, my sweetest Gabrielle… I'm so, so sorry…_

_-I know._

_-You're my child. You have to go. She'll hurt you. She'll take you away from me._

_What have I done?_

_I touch your cheek. It is cold, so cold._

_-You have to rest. You don't have to go anywhere._

_-You don't understand…_

_I hold you to me, hoping to give you some kind of warmth, some kind of solace. It is the least I can do for all you given me, all you have sacrificed… And here in this dark place, I will protect you-and for once, get it right._

_I whisper to you._

_-I do understand. I understand everything…_

There was water rushing in Her ears, a body holding Her beneath the surface. Her chest ached, lungs shrunken and strained. She was drowning.

Her muscles were weak but Her limbs responded as She tried to lift Herself to Her feet with the woman on Her back. With mounting strength, She got to Her knees, Her face rising above the surface of the water.

Gasping, She filled Her lungs with air, coughing the last of the water from them and taking a defensive stance. Octavia tried to leap from Her back, but She was able to grab the woman and hold Her fast. Getting to Her feet, She lifted the wriggling bodyguard over Her head and turned. With a menacing laugh, She hurled the woman against the side of the bridge, where she slammed hard into the rock and slid limply into the water.

"Incredible." Nero applauded from the bridge. The wind howled through the broken window behind him as he stepped onto the bank to Her left. Lightning flashed through a parting of the trees.

She looked about for Meridian. It lay dormant on the bank nearby. In three strides She had the blade and was moving to strike the Emperor down.

Octavia exploded from beneath the surface of the river, kicking Her in the side and staggering them both off balance. The bodyguard got to her feet and unsheathed her sword in time to parry Meridian. They circled each other. Thunder boomed in the night above them all.

"It's such a wonder," Nero began. "Who are you? Who are you is the question you keep asking, isn't it?" The Emperor smiled menacingly. "Wrong question."

Octavia crouched for a quick slash below the waist, but She was able to parry.

Nero continued. "Oh, but I suppose I would be afraid to ask the real question myself, too." He moved closer to the two women. "You know the one, yes?" As an exchange of blows ended in another locking of their blades, he watched Her. "Who were you?"

She yelled and spun, thrusting for the Emperor only to be parried by Octavia. Soon, She had the bodyguard backing up the bank and back toward the door to the Hall of Mirrors. Nero moved with them, remaining out of the combat. Octavia was having trouble against the brutal fury of the attacks and she stumbled several times as they continued to move away from the river and to the door.

Nero ran by them, determined to enter the hall first. "Who were you? Yes, that is the question." He yelled back at Her from beyond the door. "The answer to that just makes all of this so, so wrong, doesn't it?"

With a final forward attack, She pushed through into the Hall of Mirrors just as an explosion of light filled Her eyes. Nero had stoked the several large braziers flooding the room with light and wild reflections upon the thousands of mirrors.

The Emperor laughed. "The answer to that makes all of this a dirty reflection, doesn't it?"

All around was the reflection of Her face, brightly lit. Thousands of visions of Her, refracted into infinity. It overwhelmed Her, Her breathing quickening, Her head spinning. And if She focused on only one…

She fell to Her knees and screamed…

_I hate mirrors…_

_As a girl I avoided the mirrors in mother's room, I never wanted to believe that my reflection was truly me. I was afraid that it was someone else and that they would attack me somehow. Even when I started to finally accept that who I saw in the silver was me, I imagined that it was some other version of me, a dream self, a double. That thought scared me even more…_

_Here in the dreamscape, the kingdom of Morpheus, I learn that all my fears are true… Standing before me is my shadow, my dark reflection…_

_It speaks with my voice…_

_-You can't go through life trying to deny that I'm the real you. We were so happy all those years. Don't you remember?_

_I shake my head._

_-That wasn't me. That was never who I really was._

_It doesn't believe me, but I realize that it never will-and that this is the point. In the half-light its face twists with sinister glee._

_-Oh. Well, let me ask you this. Back then, didn't it feel right? Everything we did felt right. It felt-good._

_-But it wasn't._

_-Oh, how would you know?_

_It moves for me, as fast as I am._

_-You're weak without me, Xena. But the fire is still there. Join me…_

Octavia lunged at Her, threatening to plunge her blade down into the flesh between the collarbones. She raised Meridian in a frail gesture, but managed to parry. She tried to get to Her feet, but the bodyguard kicked Her in the ribs, spilling Her to the ground. She rolled with the attack and got to Her feet once again.

"It's foolish to fight like this," Nero said. "Highly arousing, but foolish nonetheless."

The two women clashed in a flurry of blows that rang throughout the hall. She tried desperately not to focus on any of Her countless reflections.

"Join me, help me complete my plans," Nero pleaded evenly. "You are not a pawn of the gods, of Ares. He lies to you. You know that." He grinned. "He lies to you as he always has."

She feinted a one-handed strike to the left then spun into a vicious backhand to Octavia's jaw. The woman stumbled back spitting blood and teeth. She stepped forward and drove Her boot into the bodyguard's stomach spilling her further back along the floor.

"You have allegiance to no one." The Emperor crossed his arms. "Not counting the allegiance to your little friend, of course. But I've said I'll let you see her when you've done something for me first."

She turned to Nero. "The only thing I will do for you is end your life."

He laughed maliciously. "Who's going to kill me? You?" His face became pure spite. "What would little Gabrielle think of that?"

She moved for him, but again the bodyguard locked up their blades.

"Not much, I would imagine." Nero stepped closer. "Would she?"

_You slap my face…_

_-Say it! Say it!_

_You slapped me._

_-Xena, promise them that you will never attempt to kill Ming T'ien again._

_The girl who used to wear that peasant dress, slapped me…_

_-Promise him! Xena-if you promise them, they will banish you._

_Did it make you that angry that I would kill someone to repay a debt to someone else? Is that why you betrayed me?_

_You try to find my eyes, but I look away._

_-Please…we can ride away from this…_

With an anguished yell, She disengaged without warning and brought Meridian through Octavia's forearm, severing her right wrist, her hand free from the rest of her arm. It spun uselessly, still clutching the sword, falling to the floor in a wash of blood. The bodyguard howled in pain as crimson erupted from her ruined arm and she crumpled to the ground, rolling into a ball. The Emperor's face was a strange wash of many emotions as he watched her there on the floor. Taking a breath, Nero turned back to Her.

Though She was still shaken from Her visions, She grinned as She moved slowly toward him. In Her hands, Meridian shifted in anticipation. Nero backed up into a corner of a triple mirror. Soon Her reflection filled it, Her face clear, lit by the strong pulse and light of the braziers.

"Before we begin," the Emperor smirked, still confident. "I have a last request."

She remained silent, unmoving. Without changing Her expression, She nodded.

"I ask for the name of the person who is to kill me."

She did not answer, only stared ambivalently.

He laughed. "Surely you have a name. What is it?"

She became distracted by Her reflection, the eyes as it stared back at Her, as it knew Her.

"What is your name?" Nero asked.

And then She saw the girl, the woman -- Gabrielle -- mouthing Her name. Saying it to Her in anger, in anguish, in love, beneath Her, lost in passion. Always the same face, changing through the years, but always the same face -- the face of the other half of Her soul.

_The waterfall…._

_Illusia…_

_The end of it all, all of the madness… You reach your hand out from behind the waterfall…You've forgiven me…_

_Have you?_

_I reach out my hand. Our fingers entwine._

_You pull me through to the other side…_

_And then nothing…_

_Nothing but the flood of years and all their weight rushing, churning to fill the hollows of her memory…_

_Nothing but the flash of recognition, of revelation like night cleaved in two by a pale blade of lightning…_

_And then nothing…_

_Nothing but her own face, reflected here, now, in the quivering present…_

From the trembling depths of her, a scream erupted, horrible, a scream of terrible, aged pain. She moved forward and Nero dove out of the way. With strength born of deep fury, she hurled Meridian point-first into the center of her reflection, shattering the mirror into thousands of shards. She turned and moved toward the balcony. As she left, she kicked over the huge braziers, knocking them into the garden below the balcony. They crashed and spilled upon the ground as she leapt up into the trees and disappeared into the churning night.

The wind continued to howl and blow, scooping the embers of the scattered fire, stoking them, strengthening them, carrying them on the air. They drifted through the garden like swarms of fireflies. On the ground behind the floating cinders fires started, turning tinder-dry wood easily to flame. Soon too, the blowing sparks lighted upon the branches of trees, the roofs of buildings where they found dry surfaces or the welcoming embrace of spilled oil. Across the valley around the Esquilline, blazes began to wink into existence. And the wind began to carry embers beyond, further into the city, toward the Forum.

From the balcony, Nero held Octavia upright. She was falling into shock and needed help. For now, the Emperor watched below, his eyes gleaming with a chaos and violence akin to the fire that began to surround the Domus.

"Oh," he giggled to himself. "This should be good."

***

_If humanity was born from out of the flowing water, as I believe, then surely it is into fire that it all will ultimately sink at the end of things._

_For an hour now, the flames have raged, skipping from building to building and igniting the bone-dry structures. The heavy winds pass the embers, infinite as stars, further into the city. Buildings combust, explode, timbers splitting and leaping from inside like bones beneath a wheel. For an hour, Rome has burned and for an hour, I have wandered through the flames._

_Cries sing out, disembodied. I see an ox wandering stupid and afraid, the urine spilling from it into the street evaporating in seconds. I help a lost child out of danger, her eye scalded shut. A dog, half its fur singed away, growls at me from the feet of its dead master._

_I move further into the inferno. There are bodies everywhere, smoldering. The smell of them, of burnt hair, of rendered flesh is ripe upon me, trapped in my clothes, my throat. Romans twitch and crawl as they burn alive; for these, there is my sword. I tell myself it is mercy I deliver._

_Screams, yelling erupt from down a burning alley and I move through the cinders and haze. The heat causes parts of my clothes to smoke and twitch and I have to pat them out. Flames swirl around the walls of the alley, arcing through the air above, dripping and raining onto the path in front of me. The heat pulls all air away, sucking it from my lungs causing my ribs to protest in blinding pain. A window shatters out to my right, some of its glass spraying across me, cutting flesh and lifting me off my feet. It is cooler on the ground and I drag myself on my belly under the heat and flames toward the screams._

_I get to my feet and break into a full run for the cries. As I round a corner I see her. A woman, a mother on her knees, wailing at her burning home. I can hear the muted yelps of a terrified child from inside the blaze. She is about to run into the home but I sprint past her. The front door is gone and I leap through a portal of jagged flame._

_Inside, the comforts, the familiar trappings have been rendered into mockery by flames. At the center of the room is a table, in the corner a chair, even a potted tree, all have been replaced by effigies of fire. Blue vapors trickle up to the ceiling, pouring across in torrents of rose and vermillion. I crouch low and call out._

_A cough, small and weak comes from upstairs. I bolt out of the room. The staircase is still intact, though burning-it will support my weight but for how long? I take the stairs three at a stride, reaching the top quickly. A blast of heat challenges me at the doorway, my breath stolen for a moment. I break for the room at the back of the home, calling out when I am able again. There is an answer, weaker still._

_Another doorway-as I move to enter, a rumble then a crash sound, followed by an intense shift, an outpouring of heat and sparks. The skin on my face stings from it and I stumble back, eyes watering._

_In the room the ceiling has fallen in, beams spilled inward and burning-the sky black and indifferent above it all. Embers, smoke and flame escape through the rent while wind pours through, exciting the blaze. Beneath the beams, almost out of place among the scene, is a tiny, pale hand._

_After a breath, I move around the beam, ready for the inevitable. Miraculously, the child is mostly unharmed, only her arm is pinned. I put my hands on the beam, tentatively at first, then preparing to lift it free._

_-Hold still…_

_My ribs protest but it is easy to ignore them under the circumstances. I raise the solid beam enough that she can slip free and crawl away from it. Before she can become afraid and paralyzed with fear, I grab her, holding her to my chest. Through my armor, I can feel her heart beating as fast as a sparrow's. I run down the hall to the stairs. They are fully swallowed now by the hungry flames, disappearing within their shifting jaws._

_I keep moving along the hallway toward the parents' room, there is a window ahead of us, leading to the street below. As I sprint for it, I pass a collapsed part of the building and beneath the debris a charred hand, arms and torso of a man._

_Too late…always too late…_

_We take flight through the window and I hold the girl to me, just as the air holds us to itself but only for the briefest of moments. From this height, I can see that much of the core of Rome is ablaze now, winking orange all around us. Our arc takes us to a safe part of the street, free of fire. The landing knocks the breath from me, but the girl is safe. Her mother takes her, tears in her eyes. Her voice is loud, though tired._

_-Thank you…_

_-I'm sorry…_

_Speaking makes me cough and the pain in my chest from the smoke, from my ribs brings me to my knees for a moment. I take a breath as the hacking subsides and the now-familiar numbness resumes. Wiping my eyes, I leave the mother and daughter behind me._

_Along the street is a staircase that leads further down the hill. Ash and flame spew into the air from below. I approach, looking down on the destruction. A squad of soldiers from the Urban Cohorts escort a group of citizens out of their homes, the parade resembles a prisoner march. I continue toward the stairs, my eye remaining on the scene. Some troops move off toward the as-yet-untouched homes of the citizens, brandishing torches that they take to the buildings. The citizens begin to protest until the remaining soldiers turn on them, beating them to the ground._

_I throw myself over the side of the staircase, landing on a roof and into a run. With some difficulty, I throw myself into the air and straight for the center of the Romans. The chakram arrives before I do, knocking the helmet from one of the soldiers as it incapacitates him. It is in my hands again as I arrive in their midst._

_For a moment at least, however brief, I manage to be a hero._

_The element of surprise allows me the advantage with at least three of their number. Even with my speed somewhat compromised, my timing and luck are there enough that I have them kissing dust with minimal contact._

_Then the trouble begins. The fourth's reaction is faster than I expect just as my own is slower. He meets my sweep of the katanna with his own blade. I am slow opening his defense and by the time I have found the kill, two of his comrades have me flanked. Others begin to move into position, as well as reinforcements from among the arsonists. I am surrounded but do not surrender. Old age has only served to strengthen my Macedonian stubbornness._

_Perhaps the only luck is they wish to take me alive, although this prolongs the ordeal. I manage to hold off the two flanking soldiers, even to feint one off balance, but more men arrive. I make one final attack with the chakram, missing, throwing wide as a Roman blindsides me with a pommel strike to the back of the neck._

_Stupid, slow, old…_

_The chakram whooshes off, the sound of its flight growing faint as it passes away into the night. At least it got away, I think._

_When I hit the ground I notice that the wind has all but stopped and the thunder and lightning have increased in intensity. The skies are about to open, the rain is about to fall. I wonder if any of the Romans, in the midst of their errant destruction, will have the time to enjoy it._

_After the first few kicks I don't feel pain, only ever-increasing numbness. If they plan on taking me alive, they may be going about this the wrong way. More lightning, more thunder, the flashes of darkness between are a welcome peace from the jagged faces of the soldiers._

_The citizens, the ones I saved, stand and watch or move off to try and save their now burning homes. This is where that customary ambivalence takes hold, that little voice asking: 'Why do you do this to yourself?' Normally I would have an answer, one the young Gabrielle would be proud of; 'Having done good is thanks enough' or something along those lines. It became easy for a while to put it into words, to feel it, but it went away again and it hasn't been there in some time. The truth is, lying here only reinforces the feelings I've been having lately; that certain nostalgia, longing for simplicity, for comfort-for rest._

_It's funny that for twelve years, with every reason in the world to die, I managed to find a way to stay breathing, and now, here, I know for certain that you are alive, are in this city-and I go and get myself killed._

_I have never been a hero, have I? Heroes pull through, they persevere; and when they die the world is a darker place for their loss. Once upon a time, in simpler, more comfortable days there was always someone there to rescue me. There was always you, swooping in._

_Now, there is lightning, there is thunder. The Romans have stopped and two kneel, lifting me from under my arms to my knees. I take a difficult breath, drawing it in to learn the extent of the damage. All seems well enough. I'm not dying yet._

_I spit blood into the street and watch the flames, the lightning, reflect in the tiny pool. My ears are buzzing. Perhaps I am more injured than I first imagined. In between echoes of thunder, I hear it, getting louder. It sounds like the rush of the chakram returning -- but that is impossible._

_Isn't it?_

_Lightning…_

_The sound in my ears swells as I am lifted to my feet._

_Thunder…_

_The sound has stopped suddenly. A soldier drops to the ground before me, the chakram embedded neatly in his spine. The men's grip on my arms tightens._

_Then over shouts in the burning night I hear it, shrill and terrifying -- the war cry._

_Lightning…_

_A shape, swollen and winged descends upon the men, appearing to swallow them, to swallow light in insatiable gulps. Sounds of battle, wet sounds, red sounds fill the space between, the darkness._

_Thunder…_

_Bodies spill across the street, twisted at impossible angles. My captors drop me and I let myself fall to the ground; savoring this feeling, the letting go. Through blood, I smile, my face in the dust._

_Lightning…_

_Thunder…_

_After the echo has gone, I notice that it is over. There are no more soldiers. Have I been unconscious? I pull myself up, slowly, to my knees again. My head spins and I wait. Then I feel eyes, your eyes upon me and I raise my face to you._

_You still wear the cape; the deep crimson wrapped around you. Beneath it you are trembling, I can see that. The helmet is gone and I catch glimpses of you, orangey glowing in the fires' light, your hair smoke-twisted and blowing, but I need to see your eyes, so I stand. Dizziness takes me and I lose balance…_

_Lightning…_

_…But there you are, swooping in…._

_Thunder…_

_Somehow, I am in your arms again, although you are only holding me up. Then our eyes meet and finally, I know…_

_Your lip trembles, quakes, spills open._

_-G-Gabrielle?_

_There are tears in my eyes, but my voice is unwavering._

_-Xena._

_And for a moment, one beautiful moment, there is nothing else._

_Lightning…_

_We fall to our knees in each other's arms._

_Thunder…_

_Finally, above us, the skies open and spill heavy drops of rain across the city._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting to this stage of the series was a pretty big deal for me. One of the first things I imagined about this series was Xena & Gabrielle's 'true' reunion and how that would all play out. It was this huge object pulling me toward it for something like two years or more. It's at the exact halfway point of the trilogy which kind of happened by accident. So that's cool? 
> 
> I liked how the last section -- the one in Gabrielle's POV -- turned out. It wasn't originally supposed to be in first person, but it made it easier to set the scene that way. Hopefully it has the same feel of release for readers as it did for me. All that pent up tension -- the heat building, the storm building, the confrontation building, the memories building -- everything coming to a head here was by design and it would be great it if it actually worked.


	9. The Test of Gold

Even under the steady downpour, flames spread through the city. The night sky was filled with the orange and red glow of fire, the foggy blur of rising steam, the shadows of black smoke. Horns, bells, screaming rang out, adding to the already churning chaos of explosions, shattering glass and echoing animal cries.

Citizens ran aimlessly through the streets hoping to escape the ever-widening wave of flame, trampling each other or running into rows of Praetorians who held them back, attempting to control the panic. A herd of goats charged a group of Vigiles attempting to douse the fire at a temple to Demeter, kicking and butting them in terror. Several shops near the Forum were reduced to rubble when barrels of lamp oil exploded-the jet of flame and smoke shooting high above the city.

From atop the temple of Aphrodite on the Viminal Hill, the God of War watched the fire cloud and laughed. "This is awesome," he said to Joshua, who stood straight-backed and tense beside him. "Man, I love explosions!"

Steam and smoke rose all around their position, lit by the circle of inferno below. They had been standing there, upon the rooftop, long before the flames, the smoke, and the screaming. Joshua's eyes were wide, his face an ashen smudge. In the square below, an occasional panic-stricken citizen or animal would streak through, but for the most part the area remained quiet save for the background roil of destruction and disarray. The boy looked to Ares and scowled. "Yeah, people dying, it's just great."

The god turned. "Aw, don't tell me you're starting to soften on the Romans." He shook his head. "In case you've forgotten: They threw you in a cell."

"So did you."

"Hey, I let you go. And besides," Ares grinned, "I wasn't going to crucify you."

"That's comforting." The boy watched the fire, his brow furrowed. He turned to the god. "How did this start? Was it the lightning?"

The God of War pointed across the city to a large palace to the southwest-the Domus Aurea. "The man who has all your answers lives over there."

"Someone did this deliberately?" The boy was incredulous.

"Not just someone; the Emperor Nero."

"He did this? To his own people?"

Ares laughed. "Crazy, huh?"

"Why?"

"I don't know." The god shrugged. "Ask him yourself." The God of War became distracted by the commotion in the city below them. He watched as another building, engulfed in flame collapsed into cinders. Scrutinizing the scene, he rubbed his chin. "The only problem with all this is that there isn't enough fighting. It could really use a couple of swordfights or maybe a cavalry battle."

Joshua lunged forward and grabbed the god's arm; Ares allowed himself to be spun by the boy, whose eyes burned with anger. "How can you just stand here and watch all of this?"

Ares thought about it. "Joining in is tempting, I'll admit. But the fire doesn't look like it needs any help from me."

"Why don't you save them?" Joshua sighed. "You have powers. Why don't you help them?"

"Not my jurisdiction, kid." The God of War chuckled. "Plus, I kinda like all this fire and chaos; it feels like home to me." The boy rubbed at his eyes, stinging with the noxious fumes rising around them. Ares watched him with contempt. "Why are you so concerned, anyway? You're safe up here; who cares about anyone else?"

"I shouldn't be surprised you would say that." Joshua shook his head. "My father is down there. So are my friends. So are a lot of innocent people and animals-and they're all afraid and they're all in danger." He stared out into the conflagration. "I just want to do something, to help somehow."

Ares turned with a detached shrug. "Then go, what do I care? Besides, you're drowning out the screams with all this whining."

Joshua blinked. "I can just leave?"

"Sure. Why not? Just remember-" The god leaned in close. "I let your friends go, that means you owe me one."

The boy nodded, hoping his hands didn't shake too visibly. "I know."

The God of War seemed satisfied with this and continued to watch the fire spread. Joshua looked too, trepidation and concern settling upon his features. Another explosion rose with a fiery arc into the sky as lightning and rain crashed down upon the city. Swallowing hard, the boy moved back into the temple to make his way down to the street. Ares watched him when he appeared from the mouth of the temple, moving across the wide square and through an alley toward the destruction.

"Nice kid," the god thought with a smirk. "A little too gullible, though."

***

"How long has it been?"

Gabrielle had to pause before answering the question. She moistened her lips. "A candlemark, maybe two."

"It's hard for me to keep track." Xena looked to the ground. "Things are still foggy."

They remained quiet, descending easily into silence once again. The large pergola in which they sat sheltered them from the rain, and the flat, grassy span of a park kept the fire and smoke away. They had limped in each other's arms to this spot, through the embers, through the ash to this shelter away from the city around them. Cries could be heard, disembodied behind the rows of houses sunk in the thick shadows. Cinders fell like stars or snowflakes out of the steam and smoke to the ground. Far off-a universe away it seemed-explosions boomed in the night.

Gabrielle rubbed her eyes. She turned and looked to the woman sitting beside her on the low marble bench. The hair, the face, the voice: It was Xena.

It was Xena, but how? Gods, how?

Gabrielle ran a hand through her hair, favoring her surely-broken ribs as she did.

"You can talk to me, you know?" Xena turned with a sad smile. "No need to be afraid."

"Yes, there is," Gabrielle spoke; her voice fragile and dry. "What if this is a dream? What if you're some beautiful, unbelievable dream? I'm afraid if I speak to you I'll wake up." She looked away, head bowing. "Like I always do."

Xena smiled at that. "As far as I can tell, I'm no dream." Leaning back she wrapped the red cloak of Nemesis around her armored shoulders. "And I promise I'm not going anywhere."

Gabrielle sniffed, eyes watering. She turned to speak, but halted abruptly, lips parted. She sighed. Rubbing at her eyes, the tiniest of smiles appeared on her face. "I-I like your hair that way."

"I haven't seen it yet." With a laugh, Xena blew at an inky strand of her long forelocks-the once-ubiquitous bangs now gone. "It hangs in my face."

"Not very practical."

"No." Xena shrugged. "Unless you wear a helmet or a mask."

Gabrielle averted her eyes for a moment. Xena put her hand to her head, wincing in pain. Gabrielle reached out to her. "Wh-what is it?"

"Nothing, really. My head hurts." She opened her eyes groggily. "I don't feel all here yet. Still a lot of shadows in my mind-a lot of empty spaces waiting to be filled or revealed." She shrugged. "It's still strange to be…me, I guess." Xena exhaled slowly. She blinked in silence for a moment. She turned, a tiny smile on her face. "How is it to be you, Gabrielle?"

Gabrielle chuckled in surprise at the strange question. "Well, it seems to be picking up." She met Xena's eyes then looked away suddenly.

Why is this so hard?

Gabrielle darkened, taking a deep breath as she watched water pooling on the ground beyond their shelter. She didn't lift her head. "The truth is I feel old and increasingly useless."

Xena shifted, looking sadly to the other woman. "How old are you now?"

"Not counting the twenty-five years I was frozen or the one year I was asleep?" Her smile flickered briefly. "I'm thirty-six."

Xena grinned with a quick levity tainted only slightly with melancholy. "That's older than I was-er-than I am." They laughed and Xena touched Gabrielle's wrist, her fingers, smiling brightly now.

"I know." The blonde warrior shifted ambivalently, her eyes darting away. Why haven't we touched until now? She remained still though her wrist, her fingers trembled. "When we first met, I couldn't even imagine being this old." Xena bowed her head, blinking with a sad urgency. Gabrielle watched the warrior and sharply inhaled with realization. "You…you don't remember the first time we met, do you?"

Xena looked away. "I will."

Thunder fell heavy above them, rattling the pergola, trembling through the marble they sat upon. The light of the flames cast a blurry evanescence along the horizon, shifting intensity in slow pulses. In the wake of the storm, cries rose on the air and Gabrielle squinted out into the night trying to place them. "How did this all begin?" she asked not expecting an answer.

Xena lowered her head. "I started it."

"What?" Gabrielle straightened despite the pain to her ribs, eyes wide and blinking. "How?"

"It's…it's hard to explain." Her voice trailed off into the rhythm of raindrops around them. Xena swallowed. "I was at Nero's palace."

"What? Why?"

"I was there to kill him."

Gabrielle sat forward. "Did you?"

"No." Xena shook her head. Her eyes grew unfocused as she began to remember the events. "He… he seemed prepared for me. He used my memories, my real ones, against me, to confuse and distract me." She turned to Gabrielle. "When I realized who I was, I had to get out of there. I had to-" Xena's gaze softened. "I had to find you." Her grip tightened on the blonde warrior's wrist. "On my way out of there, I tipped over a brazier of burning oil. The wind did the rest."

Gabrielle thought about that. "Still, it spread quickly, as though it had help." She looked to Xena. "You said Nero was prepared for you, couldn't he have prepared for this as well?"

The warrior princess nodded slowly with realization. "It would be possible to direct the fire's flow." They sat in silence, contemplating this. Xena snapped a finger, startling Gabrielle. "I remember seeing soldiers with amphorae of oil in the streets around the palace." She tilted her head toward the other woman and winked. "When did you get so smart?"

Gabrielle smiled but was lost in a swell of conflicting impressions. The comment, the gesture, the tone of voice was all quintessential of Xena's personality, but something about the woman was still missing.

Or is it me? Am I the problem?

She swallowed, her face sagging and appearing tired. "Just part of getting older, I suppose."

"What is it?" Xena leaned toward her. "Gabrielle?"

At the sound of her name spoken by that voice, the protective timbre, the concern, the rush of memories it inspired, Gabrielle put her hands to her face and began to weep, though she struggled against the tears. "Gods."

Xena leaned toward her, arms moving for her friend then pausing before finally reaching out to touch the blonde hair, the damp cheek. Gabrielle's head slumped longingly against the touch trailing gently through her hair and against her skin. A soft sigh escaped amidst the sniffles. Suddenly, she pulled away and Xena watched her with an expression of muted pain and anguish. Through sobs Gabrielle whispered, "I'm sorry... I can't..."

They remained apart. A fork of lightning seemed to split the sky into sharp fragments that fell to earth as water and flame, rushes of wind, shattered stone and mud. Xena wrapped herself in the red cloak once again and stared out into the night as Gabrielle wept quietly under the rhythm of the hard-falling rain.

***

In the earliest hours of the fire, information was at an obvious premium and not easily obtained. It was no surprise the usual lines of communication broke down or were destroyed outright as the Roman infrastructure shifted to meet the real threat of total destruction and widespread death. General panic and the astonishing ferocity of the blaze conspired to completely erode all but the most necessary and primal of civil cohesion.

That said, the Emperor Nero received his first status report and damage assessment a mere two hours after the beginning of the crisis. This suited the ruler well, for as it was well established, he did not like to wait. He met with the heads of the Vigiles and the Civil Defense forces upon a high, covered balcony at the Domus, where he watched the fire's progress to the south.

"'Evening, gentlemen," he greeted without turning. "Or is it morning? I've never been clear on what you call this time of the night."

The two exhausted men exchanged a wary look then the head of the Vigiles, Trentus Arenus spoke. "Caesar, we have yet to contain the blaze," here he nodded to the emperor, "although all initial goals have been reached."

The leader of the Civil Defense, Vitus Antenorus concurred. "Currently the main residences to the north and south of the Forum are burning, as well as the Senate building and the Sibylline temple."

Nero laughed. "I wonder if those snooty bitches saw that coming."

The men stood stoic and silent. Antenorus consulted some figures on an ash-smudged scroll. "Caesar, the fire is far more pernicious and is spreading much faster than originally projected."

Arenus continued: "At this rate, the entire city from the Esquilline south to the river will be ash within three days." The man licked his lips. "With civil infrastructure strained and eroding at a rapid rate, widespread panic and death could cripple the city."

"Our fear, Caesar," Antenorus spoke with a steady timbre, "is that a crisis such as this in the Imperial City will spread as spiritual damage throughout the Empire. This sort of strike at our heart could have our enemies smelling blood; not to mention fueling inner dissention with a newfound strength."

Nero leaned against the balcony's simple marble railing. He nodded out toward the flames and smoke. "My friends, what you see before you is not a fire. It is not even a crisis as you have said. This is a sad view into human nature." He shook his head. "You see, such adversity and danger should provoke acts of the utmost heroism; should raise simple men into great leaders; should raise all of what is best about humanity out of the mire of the mundane up to profound new heights."

Nero turned, sighing for effect. "But what does it do instead? It brings out the basest, most vile in them. Right now they loot, they rape and beat each other-why?-out of fear.

"Fear has one beautiful quality, my friends." The emperor crossed his arms. "It makes it so much easier to control people.

"When people are afraid they want powerful leaders and easy answers-even if they are lies. They will give you anything if you just show them you are fearless; that you can guide them through the storm or flames to safety.

"I will do this for the city, for the empire. When the smoke clears, I will be standing there with a plan for a new Rome and with the criminals responsible for the disaster."

The men watched him, unmoving.

Nero's eyes gleamed with an unsettling spark. "Now, do what it is I've asked of you."

After the commanders had left, Nero threw himself onto a nearby couch and continued to watch the fire burn, his face contorting and twisting as wildly as unfettered flame.

***

Through the first alarm bells, through the far-off gasps of explosions, Eve sleeps and dreams.

It is night in the forest though the heat of day still drapes itself through the trees. Eve steps quietly through the underbrush, over roots and the dry nettles of Roman pines. The low call of an owl echoes high above her.

She finds the woman in a small clearing, within earshot of the river. Pale and blonde, she stands thin in the moonlight, her dark eyes spotting Eve as she approaches. Eve remembers the woman from another dream. It is Callisto.

"So you recognize your Auntie Callisto, hm?" The woman grins.

Eve stops. "Yes."

"You're late, little one." She offers her hand, her expression darkening. "We must hurry."

They move through the woods, heading toward the river. Eve can hear its soft rush, its brush with the rocks and shore. "Where are we going?" she asks.

Callisto keeps moving. "Legitimate question." She turns and winks. "Not the right one, though."

Soon, they have stepped from the woods and move along a high embankment, tracing a path parallel to the river. Through it all, the woman holds Eve's hand. Eve blinks at her guide. "If that wasn't the right question, then what is?"

"Definitely not that one. That would be cheating." Callisto grinned. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Eve sighs. "Give me a hint?"

"Why should I?"

"Weren't you supposed to be turning over a new leaf or something?"

Callisto snorts. "Kinda hard when you're dead."

Eve rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean."

Callisto stops and crosses her arms. "Okay. I'll give you a hint." She narrows her eyes. "You already have the answer."

"What?"

Jutting her chin out, Callisto takes on a haughty air. "You heard me."

"So, I already know the question?"

Callisto looks at her skeptically. "I guess maybe you didn't hear me." She brings her hands to her mouth, amplifying her voice. "I said you already have the answer." She laughs. "I didn't say you already have the question. Why would we be looking for the answer if we had it already?" She shakes her head. "Your mother was so much smarter."

Eve sighs, rolling her eyes. "Let's go. I'm sure it'll become apparent."

Callisto smiles slyly. "Attagirl."

They continue along the edge of the river. Eve watches the ripples lit by the light of the full moon, folding like stars across endless time. Soon, they can see a tall, arched Roman bridge that fords the water. Callisto quickens their pace, moving into the brush at the side of the road. She grins as they settle into a crouch. "Here's where it gets good-watch."

Eve looks out across the road and sees several figures crouched low in the grass. They are Roman soldiers, weapons drawn and ready for something that approaches. Eve tenses, but Callisto puts a hand on her shoulder. "Watch," the blonde woman says and points toward the other side of the river.

Two figures-two women-appear at the end of the bridge. Cautiously, they make their way across the brick and wood structure. Eve watches, feeling that the women are familiar. Suddenly, Eve stands. "Wait! Wait!"

Callisto grabs her wrist. "No one can hear you, silly girl." She pulls Eve back down into a crouch. "Besides, your question is coming up."

Eve watches wide-eyed as the women continue toward the Roman ambush. "But that's-"

"Yup."

"I know how this-"

"Yup." Callisto puts a finger up in front of her lips and grins. "Shhh."

They can hear the voices of the two women. Eve recognizes one of the voices as her own. "You shouldn't have come. I-it's too dangerous."

The other woman, Analea, whispers. "What's done is done."

In the brush, Eve trembles as she watches, knowing how it is to unfold. The soldiers rise. The first manages to subdue Analea, the second, smaller one, surprises Eve, grabbing her by the wrist and spinning her to face him. Without emotion he runs his blade into her belly, the sharp tip poking out the back of her robe. Analea screams and impossibly, everything goes still.

Callisto stands. "Come with me."

Eve doesn't move. "No."

Callisto holds out her hand and smiles benevolently. Eve sighs, takes the woman's hand and rises to her feet. They move past the static shapes of the other soldiers and onto the bridge.

Callisto strides over to Eve and the soldier, both of whom now appear to be one horrific, uniform being. She nods at them. "You already have the answer to this question, Eve."

"What question?" Eve stares without comprehension at the scene. She can see the contorted look of pain on her own face, see the spray of her own blood frozen upon the air. "What question?"

The blonde woman smiles sadly and steps closer to the soldier. She removes the helmet. Eve gasps. The soldier is Livia.

Callisto holds the helmet at her side. She indicates first Livia then Eve. "Who would you rather be?" she asks simply.

***

_There are fennel fields around the outskirts of Tripolis, spun like a halo in golds out and over the rolling hills. I watch Argo finally turn and gallop away through them, her flanks blending into the shimmering backdrops and I think-I am always saying goodbye. I am always sending them away from me._

_Beyond the hills there are Persians, I can feel them massing in the gathering dusk. Thousands of them from across the mountains and the seas, the Great King's army brought to bear like a wide thumb upon a tiny ant._

_And here I am, ready to save the day._

_In a hut somewhere behind me Gabrielle is dying. The poison has spread rapidly, there is no available antidote and we can't leave. I suppose it is ironic that the one person I would never turn my back on is being taken away no matter what I have to say about it. Irony has never been something I could appreciate; irony is what old men call tragedy when it isn't happening to them._

_Argo disappears over a hill and I turn back to the hut. There is much to prepare-weapons to be readied, Gabrielle's poultice to be changed, dinner to be cooked, and the other tasks that distract from that which there is absolutely no preparation..._

The night was blue with mist and rain, bruised in streaks of orange flame and black smoke. In the park the air curtained, folding grays and indigos over the flowing dark. There was a light dispossessed, exiled upon the ether and gathered in weak clouds that illuminated with a ghostly nimbus.

Through it a horse galloped-fear-stricken yet noble-its steps silent somehow upon the wet earth. Unaware of their presence, its pale skin and mane shifted in the clotting light like the surface of pearls or broken shells. For a moment it found peace, slowed to a walk and soon to stillness. The night, the storm seemed to settle upon the mare's shoulders, to absorb the animal into its ambiguity. Lightning struck nearby and thunder was immediate, an oscillating crash that echoed long after the horse bolted over the sopping grass and off into the darkened quarters of the park.

Xena shifted beneath the cloak she kept tightly wrapped about herself, resting her head upon her knees. She blinked into the night before turning sadly toward Gabrielle. The blonde woman sat with her back to Xena, head tilted to one side. Her sobs had eventually faded and they had not spoken for some time now. Lips parting dryly, Xena moved to speak. "Gabrielle I-"

"It was Ares who brought you back, wasn't it?"

Xena sighed, her head bowing. Slowly, she nodded. "Yes." She thought about it, searching for the wavering memory. "He wasn't the only one though."

"Aphrodite." Gabrielle turned slightly so she sat facing the same direction. "I spoke with her. She told me you were alive; not in so many words, of course."

"Of course."

"I-I guess a part of me knew…even…even when-"

"Even when we fought in Caesar's temple." Xena finished the thought.

"When you caught the chakram, I knew." Gabrielle bowed her head. "But I wouldn't-I couldn't-admit it to myself until she told me." She looked away. "A part of me still can't."

"It's hard to believe." Xena turned to her. "But it's true."

Gabrielle nodded. "It is."

Xena smiled wistfully. "Admitting things wasn't as easy for me."

"No…"

"It was like moving through quicksand toward the surface. Every time I remembered who I was, I was pulled back down into darkness."

Gabrielle watched her, hands held at her sides. "What did you remember?"

"You, mostly." Xena turned, smiling warmly. "So that when I finally saw your face-"

"It made things real."

"Yes." Xena pushed a strand of damp hair from her eyes. "After that it was only a matter of time. The memories seemed to be tied to emotions-that's probably where Aphrodite comes in."

"Why would Ares take such a risk, though? If enlisting Aphrodite's help meant possibly losing control of you?"

With a sigh, Xena bowed back toward the night. "Ares had tried on his own many times before this. For some reason he couldn't do it without Aphrodite's help."

"Which she gave him."

"I don't think she wanted any part of it-of any of this."

"Then why do it at all?"

"Loyalty?" Xena shrugged. "He's her brother and the only other Olympian." She contemplated this. "Their bond must have strengthened given that they're the only family they have left."

Gabrielle sneered. "Maybe he's forcing her somehow?"

"I don't think so. She's not happy about whatever is going on, but from what I remember she isn't being forced to do any of this."

"You… 'remember'?" Gabrielle turned. "What-what else can you remember?"

The wind blew strands of Xena's hair across her face. "I remember nothing, really." She pushed the damp locks from her eyes. "And I remember everything. The person who I was-who I am-is here now but…but my memories they're-" She searched for words. "It's as though they're separate from me and they come and go as they please."

"And you don't keep them when they do?" Gabrielle asked her voice cracking.

"No."

With a faint nod, Gabrielle looked away. She cleared her throat. "Do-do you think that Ares is keeping your memories from you for a reason?"

"It's crossed my mind," Xena said. "Although, most of my memories as Nemesis are still intact and it would make more sense to hide those."

Gabrielle faced her now. "Is there anything about Ares' plans in your memories?" She became reticent. "Anything? Anything I-that we-can use?"

"He was never specific." Xena narrowed her eyes. "Unless he wanted something done."

Gabrielle shifted on her cold haunches. She averted her eyes. "What if regaining your memories is part of his plans?"

"I thought of that, too." Xena darkened. "I can't really say I've regained my memories yet." She focused again. "Any way you look at it, it still doesn't make what Ares is doing any clearer."

"He definitely seems to wants Nero out of the way."

Xena smiled wearily. "And we're caught in the middle."

"Along with the rest of the world," Gabrielle nodded solemnly. She turned and added, with a smile, "Familiar territory."

Xena returned the smile but blinked uncertainly. At this, Gabrielle withdrew as though she had been struck in the face. Xena quickly moved forward, stopping suddenly at the invisible and un-negotiated border between them.

"Gabrielle, I-" Her hand remained held open, neither retracted nor advanced. "I don't need my memories to know that I love you."

Their eyes met then, for what seemed like the first time. Through shadows, through mists, through smoke and flames--through lifetimes and years too many to number they looked at one another. Xena's lip began to quirk itself into a gentle grin.

Gabrielle wrenched herself away, facing back out into the night. "I-I can't… Not-not now."

Just beyond their now silent forms, the wind strengthened, moaning through the low park, while the rain continued to fall in heavy droplets that smoothed over the pockets of earth where the horse had galloped past and into the night.

***

Joshua would always remember the smell Rome made as it burned. Beneath the almost benign aroma of burning wood lurked other more sinister odors, ones that made sweat bead in the small of his back. As he trudged through the rain, through the increasingly muddy streets, the boy did his best to push these thoughts from his mind.

Descending the Viminal Hill, he had to avoid the steady exodus of fleeing Romans and their animals, their tired, soot smudged faces passing shocked and scared as he moved by. Some carried possessions as big as couches between them, or hefted as much as they could in sacks upon their backs. Groups of men in uniforms that were not quite like those worn by soldiers poured water or dirt on tiny fires that erupted on buildings. Joshua reasoned that these were Vigiles, the Roman fire fighters.

He cut through the crowds into empty alleys, all the while moving toward the growing lights of the blaze. Occasionally he had to stop, his breathing labored from inhaling fumes, his chest heaving until he coughed violently. He placed a hand against a wall to hold himself up. His eyes watered as embers fell all about him glowing like tiny sprites in the coarse shadows. It was almost beautiful.

From the smoke cluttered alley, he burst onto the streets, picking up pace as he felt himself nearing the first lines of the fire. More refugees cluttered the streets and he had to push through. Suddenly, he felt a hand grab the back of his tunic. A stern-faced Vigile spun him around. "What are you thinking, boy?" he yelled. "This way."

The man led him with the flow of the crowd to a nearby square where people were gathering. "You'll be safe here," the man said, softening somewhat. "If that's indeed what you want." He smiled before he turned back to his duties and jogged out from the square.

Joshua looked around at the large collection of Roman refugees, clustered in ragged groups getting soaked by the rain. Healers moved around the wounded and the dying, doing their best to ease suffering. A woman with frantic eyes flittered about from person to person yelling: "I could only save my baby! I could only save my baby!" Joshua wrapped his arms around himself, trying to find warmth though his drenched clothes.

A flash of light followed by a loud boom shook the square. Joshua turned to see a large fireball lift into the night's sky from the area where he had been running to. Screams and gasps of surprise erupted in its wake. Over the outbursts and the ringing in his ears, Joshua heard the frantic woman scream out once again: "I could only save my baby! I could only save my baby!"

Joshua darted for the alley entrance to the square, hoping to head toward the explosion, but soon fast-moving crowds of those fleeing the fireball prevented him. They wore masks of fear or carried wounded in their arms. Joshua got caught up in the current of people and found himself back near the center of the square. He spun about, dizzy from fumes, from a lack of food and water; blood, charred flesh, terrified faces all assaulted his senses.

"Boy!" A physician grabbed at his arm. "I need your help. Now!"

Turning, Joshua saw that the man was lifting a badly wounded Vigile from a litter. The boy knelt down and secured the injured man's legs-one of which had been severely crushed. Carefully, Joshua and the physician were able to lower the man to the ground. The physician looked to Joshua. "Stay with him, I'll be back." Then he was gone, absorbed by the chaos around them.

Looking down at the Vigile, Joshua gained a full appreciation for the man's injuries. Along with his irreparably mangled right leg, several large and jagged pieces of metal had somehow pierced his ribs. To compound these injuries, the man was burned quite badly on the arms and upper torso. As Joshua moved to assist the man he grunted in a way that sounded-as impossible as it seemed-like a laugh. "I-I told you…you'd be safe here."

Squinting down at the Vigile, Joshua could see that it was the same man who had forced him to safety only minutes earlier. The boy knelt closer, trying to figure out anything he might do to help the man. "What…what happened?"

"B-building in the Boarium exploded." The man winced. "Just my luck…I was… I was right beside it…" He coughed painfully and indicated the shards of metal. "That's… p-probably all that's left of the place…" Joshua took the Vigile's hand. The man squeezed back weakly.

Soon the physician returned with a basin of water and some cloth. He began to clean some of the man's wounds. He looked to Joshua. "More and more are coming in from the explosion." His eyes were frantic. Behind him the woman screamed her litany: I could only save my baby! I could only save my baby! The physician turned and yelled at her to shut up. He looked at Joshua. "Can you stay with him? Clean some of his wounds; give him some water?"

"O-okay," Joshua nodded, somewhat slack-jawed. Without responding, the physician darted back into the frenzy.

The Vigile coughed again. "G-guess I'm not g-going…not going to make it."

Joshua tried to focus, he took a damp cloth and dabbed at some caked blood around a gash in the man's shoulder. "Don't be silly."

"He's…he's not coming back." The man nodded; weak though sure. "He left me with… with a boy… How does it seem to…to you?"

Joshua continued to wash the man's wounds, revealing more and more trauma. Around him, voices, shouts, screams sounded, punctuated by disembodied cries of "I could only save my baby! I could only save my baby!"

The physician never returned.

***

"What happens now?"

Xena got to her feet, the red cloak sliding off the bench. She stood, her back to Gabrielle, and placed a hand on one of the pergola's marble pillars. She watched the rain fall in the spare light of the park.

Gabrielle lifted her head. The silhouette of the woman, its familiarity, made her stop before speaking. She swallowed hard, flushing the quick nausea, pain, fear from her throat, saving only the words. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"What do we do now?" Xena did not turn around. "About Rome? About Nero? About Ares?"

"Oh."

"You need to bring me up to speed on everything you know."

"I will." Gabrielle straightened, clearing her throat. "But you should sleep first." She rubbed at her temples "We both should sleep first. We'll need to head back to the Senator's mansion to regroup."

"Senator?" Xena turned her head slightly. "A Roman senator?"

"Yes. One's helping us…well more than one, really. It's something we can explain later."

Xena arched her eyebrow. "And you trust him?"

"Well, Virgil does."

"Okay." The rain continued to fall heavily, collecting in deep puddles now. Xena wrapped her cloak about her shoulders. "You said 'we can explain later.' Who's 'we'?"

Gabrielle smiled. "'We' is Virgil and Eve and-" She stopped as Xena turned, eyes wide in recognition. "Yes, Eve is here." Gabrielle smiled. "She's grown into a wise and powerful woman, Xena."

Xena rubbed at her eyes. She sighed. "It's hard to hold onto the memories of her right now."

Gabrielle leaned forward; she reached out a hand, remaining seated. "Xena?"

"It's okay. I'm okay." Xena leaned against the pillar. "Go on."

"She's older than the two of us, now, you know? So's Virgil." The blonde warrior nodded. "The only young one is Mira."

"Mira?"

"Yes… she's uhm… she's my…" Gabrielle rubbed at the damp hair at the back of her head. "She's my sidekick."

Xena crossed her arms and even in the uncertain light, her light-hearted grin was easily seen. "_Your_ sidekick?"

"Yes." Gabrielle cleared her throat, averting her eyes. "_My_ sidekick."

With a sigh, Xena stood and looked at her friend, the smile on her face changing slowly, softening at the edges, fading. Gabrielle smiled wistfully. Xena nodded. "She's a lucky girl. She's got a better teacher than you ever did."

"Xena…"

Turning, Xena looked out into the night again. Without a word, she stepped into the rain, walking several steps beyond the pergola. She raised her face up into the downpour. Gabrielle watched her, the red-cloaked woman getting drenched in the rain. Xena's shoulders began to shake. Gabrielle got to her feet.

"Xena? What?"

With a flourish, Xena spun. She was laughing and opened her arms wide. "I've missed this," she whooped. Smiling with soft joy, she turned her face up into the night again.

Gabrielle watched her. She put a hand to her mouth as small sobs rose from her. As Xena stopped turning, Gabrielle masked the tears with coughing.

"So this Senator's place," Xena stepped out of the rain. "It got a good bath?"

Gabrielle grinned, wiping her nose. "It does, actually." She got to her feet. "Sure you need one after that?"

"Well." Xena winked. "I literally can't remember the last time I had one."

They laughed. For a moment, their gazes met in the darkness and Gabrielle felt her skin thread and warm. But soon, she straightened and nodded to the north. "We should go."

Xena smiled. "Lead the way."

They moved off into the rain, each supporting the other. Covered in puddles of water, the grass sloshed beneath their weary footsteps. The sounds of the smoldering city soon enveloped them as they exited the park, heading to the north toward the Quirinal Hill and their friends.

***

Outside, the rain beats against the shutters in waves. Alarm bells and horns sound in the darkness, echoing from the streets surrounding the forum, up to the mansions upon the Quirinal Hill. Still oblivious, Eve continues to dream.

"Well?" Callisto grinned. "Which is it going to be?" She pointed to Eve's pierced form, "The Good?" Then to Livia. "The Bad?" Finally, she crouched beside the static spray of blood erupting from Eve's wound. "Or the Ugly?" She giggled and flicked at a fat, frozen droplet of blood; it drifted on the air and soon came to a stop.

Eve watched the drop with a bleak expression. "Not much of a choice," she said. "On the surface."

Callisto tilted her head. "Really? I thought it would have been obvious."

"Well, it is." Eve smiled. "I'm not Livia."

Scrunching up her nose, Callisto blinked at the acolyte. "Huh? Now I'm confused." She looked away. "And a little bored, to be honest, but that's not your concern."

"All I'm saying is that the choice is an easy one and," Eve winked at the woman, "You were right."

Callisto knotted her fingers together. "Uh, still confused here."

Eve straightened. "I did have the answer all along."

"Then you've made your choice?"

"I have."

Callisto's bearing shifted. She stood taller, held her hands gracefully at her sides, and smiled serenely. "I knew you would, kitten." She looked away, sadly. "It's time."

Eve shook her head. "For what?"

"Time to toughen up, kiddo." Callisto stepped up to her and brushed a hand against her cheek. "That's what this is all about."

Tingling flowed through Eve's cheek as white light engulfed her. She opened her eyes.

It is night; she is on a bridge somewhere. Analea is beside her. Eve told the girl not to follow when she had decided to return. Decided, she laughs at herself. She has had no choice, not after everything she has finally realized, she has finally understood. How can she have been so…

She turns to Analea.

"You shouldn't have come." Knowing what she knows, Eve has trouble continuing. "I-it's too dangerous."

Analea whispers, "What's done is done," and smiles.

Eve only has time to smile sadly at the girl, then it happens. A Roman soldier surprises her, darting from the trees on the other side of the bridge. There are several of them in hiding there. Sword in hand, he charges, threatening. Analea screams. Without emotion, the soldier drives the sword into Eve's abdomen. A small cry escapes her, a shiver of air pushed free of her lungs. She feels the blade break the skin of her back, a flicker of pain that dulls fast.

She feels the life drain from her, faster than she could imagine. The soldier pulls the sword free and sniffs, satisfied, as though he has finished constructing a wooden table or planting a garden. Off to the left, Analea is thrown to the ground and she screams again. The soldier grabs Eve by the scruff of her neck and throws her off the bridge toward the rushing water below.

There is a splash. She doesn't hear it, but she knows it is there, above her now at the surface. She sinks slowly into the river's soft indigo, a small, resigned smile daubing the corners of her lips.

A light, small at first, blooms in the deep beneath her. It grows in size, in intensity. Eve watches tiny animals float by illuminated in its soft blue glow. There is a shape at its center, a person-a woman wrapped in flowing robes. She floats up to meet Eve, arms open. Eve continues to sink, unable to move. She doesn't struggle.

In the blue glow, Eve can finally see the approaching woman's face-it is her mother, smiling up at her.

Eve smiles back.

Xena opens her arms wide, enfolding Eve, pulling her close, pulling her to the light…

***

Through the rain's vertical oppression are the faces. They never stop. Bleak, hopeless, in shock, soot pooling in the creases and crevices of skin, blood running down a forehead or cheek. They carry children, or possessions, or the wounded in their arms, maundering past the injured and dying who scream up at them. No one looks to the sky, to the heavy halo pulled over the buildings and the square-the fire's progress.

Joshua blinks through the downpour, hair plastered to his cheeks. The smells and the vertigo around him have churned his stomach, making him nauseous. His coughs disappear into the crowded air around him. A litter goes by, a woman, her arm badly burned, moans as two Vigiles carry her past. His guts turn again, forcing him to spit onto the wet ground.

"St-stay with me, boy." It is the injured man, the Vigile who saved his life. He lies pale and shivering on his mat, squinting up. Joshua kneels beside him and the man gives a weak nod. "Try not to look…if…if you don't have to."

Behind them they hear the crazed woman; her cries of: "I could only save my baby," trail off, though are never fully lost beneath the chaos. There are more explosions, distant rumbles different than the roar of thunder. Joshua clenches his jaw. The man coughs, although it could be a laugh. "The… the gods are punishing us."

"What?"

The man has a bitter sneer pulled across his lips. "Rome has… has become too… too corrupt… so the gods punish us with…with this devastation." He shudders with hacking.

Joshua thinks about Ares, about the god's indifference-what he said about Nero and the fire. He puts his hand on the man's shoulder to steady him and soon, the coughing subsides. The boy shakes his head. "If what you say is true, why is it the innocent and poor who suffer?"

"They…always suffer, boy… that's nothing new." The man laughs. "The difference now is that others…more deserving of pain…join…join them."

Joshua shakes his head. "What sort of gods would do this to people who worship them?"

The man grabs his hand and holds it. For a moment, an emotion other than pain or fear settles upon his face. "Truth is… I… I haven't-" He looks away, turning his head to the side.

Joshua adjusts his position, kneeling closer. "What is it?"

The man looks ashamed; his hoarse voice shrivels into a whisper. "I… I haven't believed in the gods… or… anything for… for some time now." He began to weep in slow, silent sobs.

"But-"

"I'm afraid."

"I know-"

"You don't understand." He coughs, still shuddering after it has left his lungs. "I-I'm afraid there's nothing… nothing after…"

Joshua blinks at the wounded Vigile, unable to speak. Somehow, as irrational and impossible as the man's fear sounded, the boy taps into it and understands it, even if only for a brief second, but it is enough to unravel the tenuous threads of his courage. He tumbles back onto his haunches, his eyes unfocused.

Around him, the sounds, the dying continues. Joshua feels himself fading into it, being devoured, drowning. There is nothing for him to hold onto, not a hope or a task or the smallest speck of valor. He is going into shock.

Then there is the memory-Eve healing Analea in the Roman dungeon-and he clings to it. It is as impossible as the thought of Nothingness and it appears to help him because of that. He kneels again, beside the now delirious Vigile and places his palm upon the man's forehead. Closing his eyes, Joshua tries to still his mind, tries to let what vitality he has in his body trickle down his arms, through his fingers into the dying man.

What's supposed to happen now?

The Elians always talk about "doing nothing" or "becoming Love." Joshua tries to still his thoughts, to ignore his surroundings, as hard as that is. He tries to ignore the man's cold hand in his, tries to push all feelings from him. He tries to open himself to something, though he knows not what.

Screams, frantic action, whimpering continue around him, but Joshua keeps his eyes closed, his mind as empty as possible. Does he feel something? Is there a sense of something moving through him?

"I could only save my baby!"

Joshua opens his eyes and meets the gaze of the crazed woman, her bundle nestled tightly against her. She stares unblinking at him. He looks down to the man, to his hand, his face, both of which are still and lifeless.

"No." Joshua moves to the man's head, touches his skin, searches for signs of life-there are none. "No." The Vigile's eyes remain open, widened with a quiet fear, his lips contorted in soft dread. Joshua shakes his head, closes his eyes. He falls back, off balance, onto his side, tears welling.

"I could only save my-"

"Shut up! Shut up!" Enraged, Joshua springs to his feet. "What are you going on about?" He grabs the startled woman and shakes her roughly.

She appears to think on his question. "Our home it…it burned so quickly. My husband, my boy…they were trapped….I had to choose between saving them…or…or my baby…I…I thought they could escape on their own…" She gave a soft sigh. "I could only save my baby…" She held the bundle out to him.

Joshua leans in to the soot stained swaddling. Nestled within is the smudged husk of an infant, its eyes closed, its body still. He steps back from the woman. "But it's-" The woman's eyes deflect truth, sense. Joshua stumbles back. He takes one last look down at the Vigile and runs off through the crowded square.

***

The sound of fat droplets of rain against tile and brick and earth, pooling in puddles and urns, was usually one that Mira found soothing. Tonight, from just inside one of the balconies at Gallus' mansion, it only served to darken what lay across her soul. She watched the sheeting rain and looked to the sky over the city. The orange glow, the haze of smoke throbbed as the storm continued. Over the thunder, she could hear shouting, the alarm bells, the trumpets. There was still no sign of Gabrielle.

_"I can take care of myself. I wish you would see that." She knew Gabrielle was skeptical, but understood-at least somewhere inside herself. "Didn't you have the same problem with…uh…before?"_

_"There were things I didn't know I needed protection from." The warrior became somber, serious. "Things I never want you to experience."_

_"But-"_

_"Things that you're too innocent to understand-and I'd like it to stay that way."_

A dog whined somewhere on the street below. Mira sighed.

_And now I understand, Gabrielle._

She wiped at her eyes.

_The soldier-Brunus, Brunus was his name-wouldn't let her find Gabrielle. He wouldn't let her go down to Gabrielle, who must have been… And then he wasn't paying attention, and she had to move then because there wasn't going to be another chance, and Gabrielle was down there and there wasn't time. So she jumped at him and tried to punch him and kick him and choke him and she bit him and she wanted to kill him, Gods, she wanted to kill him somehow, anyhow, but he was strong. "Stop it!" he yelled. "I don't want to hurt you." And she knew he didn't want to hurt her but he wouldn't let go of her or stop trying to grab her when she pulled away. Then she remembered the slash, the slice Gabrielle had given him earlier, her sword cutting down into flesh as through a curtain of linen; she remembered the slash and grabbed for it wanting to feel flesh and blood on her fingers, his flesh and blood because he wouldn't let her down to Gabrielle and then he screamed so high in pain and he was scared, was angry but he stepped back and fell off the balcony, fell away so fast and disappeared into darkness and she felt that, with him she too fell into the dark like that and disappeared now. And when he died, when the sound came-Gods, the sound-she felt as though she just kept falling, falling forever into darkness and her stomach roiled that way and still did._

She took a sip of water, her mouth immediately drying after the liquid passed down her throat. With a muted growl, she threw the silver goblet at the wall then collapsed into a nearby chair. Mira covered her eyes and began to sob.

"Mira?"

It was Virgil. When she raised her head, suitably embarrassed, he was approaching her with tentative steps. He squinted in the gloom of the oil lamp light. "Are you okay?"

She cleared her throat. "Gabrielle is still out there."

He gave a bleak nod to the balcony, the rain, the blaze. "I'm sure she'll be okay." Mira began to sob again. Virgil embraced her, rubbing her back. "It's okay. Gabrielle will be fine. She'll be here soon."

"Virgil I…" She shook her head. "I killed someone."

For a brief moment, the rubbing stopped and Virgil stiffened. "Oh, Mira, I…" He held her closer and rubbed her back again. "You poor, poor child."

"I-I didn't mean to."

"No one would ever think that you could." He held her closer now.

"I thought he k-killed Gabrielle."

"Shh, shh. It's okay."

"It's not, because a p-part of me…" Mira sniffled. "A part of me wanted to kill him." She sobbed against the poet.

Virgil sighed. "It's okay."

From the lower entrance, the sound of doors opening, people moving. Virgil and Mira raised their heads to the sounds. Mira wiped her eyes. "Gabrielle."

They ran down the stairs, Mira taking them two at once and rounded into the torch-lit entrance hall. Standing there, looking wet and hurt but still healthy was Gabrielle. Slumped against her stood a dark-haired figure wrapped in red who straightened, as though recovering from an intense pain. Mira saw the figure's-the woman's-face. She froze.

"N-no."

Gabrielle turned to the girl quickly. "Mira, wait."

Mira backed away, tripping onto the stairs. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand.

_The priest of Ares, skewered into the ceiling, wide eyes unblinking, thick torrents of blood dripping down upon her. And then the woman, the assassin in the red cloak coming for her with the black sword trembling and then her voice, her terrible, calm voice…_

_-This is the end, little one…_

"N-no." she whispered again, breath taken from her.

Not noticing, Virgil stepped forward moving closer to the woman in the red cloak, his body shaking. "Xe-Xena?"

_Xena?_ Mira blinked at Virgil then the woman. The woman tilted her head, blue eyes confused for a moment then softening and smiling. "Virgil."

Gabrielle smiled strangely. "It's amazing who you can run into in this town."

"Gods, Xena, it is you!" Virgil took two quick strides to the woman and embraced her fiercely. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." His voice cracked as he spoke.

Mira watched the woman embrace Virgil, her eyes holding a sad cast. The eyes were not filled with the same dark intensity that had possessed Nemesis the night in the Temple of Ares.

Gabrielle moved toward her. "It's okay Mira." She smiled.

"Gabrielle… I…" Mira got up.

"It's okay."

Mira stepped forward and hugged the warrior who grunted. "Heh, not so hard, my ribs…"

Virgil was still sobbing and laughing simultaneously. "But you must be hungry. I'm sure we can round something up for you both." He began guiding Xena toward the dining area.

Gabrielle ran a hand through Mira's hair, but her attention followed Xena and the poet. She slid from Mira's arms and began to follow then stopped. "You coming?" She smiled and Mira could not remember ever seeing the warrior smile this way before.

"Yes." She nodded, her feet pointing together. "In a moment."

"Okay."

The warrior strode off toward the dining room. Mira sighed and moved back up the stairs. She came to the balcony again and leaned against its doorframe. Outside the rain fell with its loud pattering, filling gutters and creating streams of runoff that fell from the roof. Mira watched it all wondering if there would ever be a time when its sounds would not remind her of this night.

***

Joshua ran blindly down darkened alleys through the rain. His feet sloshed in the mud, spraying the backs of his legs. It wasn't until he entered a familiar looking square that he realized where it was he approached. Down a side-street was the place he had called home for the last few months. As he neared, he could see smoke and flames rising above the buildings.

"No," he gasped, quickening his pace. "Dad…"

Groups of Vigiles and Praetorians had the area cordoned off and residents, some he recognized, clogged the streets. Wide-eyed, he surveyed the smudged and hopeless faces. There was no sign of his father.

A Praetorian grabbed him, the man's face obscured by his helmet's nose-guard. "What is it, boy?" The soldier's breath smelled sour and empty-stomached.

"My father." Joshua squirmed. "I need to find him."

The man let him go. "If he's not in the crowd then I wouldn't hold to much of a hope, son."

Joshua stepped back, his eyes unfocused. "No."

"I'm sorry." The soldier turned back to his duties.

Joshua maundered off to the side, tripping into the mud. He put his hands to his face. The voices, the screams around him began to fade in his hearing. He began to sob.

"You're looking for your father, you said?"

It was a woman's voice. Joshua raised his face to it. Standing above him was a younger woman, wrapped in soaked pink robes, a white cowl over her hair. He nodded. "That's right."

She smiled. "About this tall? Beard? Nice face?"

He nodded. "Y-yes."

Her grin widened. She had beautiful teeth. "Name's Josepus?"

"That's him!" Joshua got to his feet. "Do you know where he is?" He grabbed pleadingly at her robes.

"Uh…no." She cleared her throat, trying to back away. "Well, that is, I know he's alive, just not where he is right now."

Joshua's arms fell to his sides. "Oh."

"Hey. He's alive, that's something, isn't it?"

"Sure. I guess."

The woman adjusted her dripping robes. "He went with the first wave of evacuees-the ones that left before the soldiers came. Said he was worried about his son-which is you-but said he somehow knew you were okay." She winked. "Guess he was right, huh?"

Joshua sighed looking at the chaos around him. "What was I thinking?"

The woman in pink blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

"I thought I could help," Joshua muttered sadly. "I really thought I could help."

"Help? Help what?"

He shook his head. "I thought I could do something, help Rome, the people. I thought I could because I was friends with people that could-that do."

"Well, that's not so far-fetched, is it?"

"I've only made things worse."

"I think you may be exaggerating a bit."

"I thought I could heal people." Joshua laughed in contempt. "What was I thinking?" He shook his head again. "If I want to help, I should just throw myself into the fire."

"Hey!" The woman grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him gently. "Stop talking silly." She looked into his eyes. She had beautiful eyes. "Your father is alive. Your friends are alive. How would they feel if you went off and got yourself roasted somewhere?"

Joshua blinked at her. "I'm useless. I'm a scared little boy."

"You know you're not useless." She turned her attention to the fire. "And everyone is scared." The woman met his gaze again. "Can I ask you a question?"

Joshua nodded.

"How did you find your way here?"

"I-I'm not sure. I just ran."

"Exactly."

"Huh?"

"You followed your heart." The woman nodded. "It led you to the right place." Joshua blinked at her as he pondered this. She smiled. "There's a lesson in there, if you care to learn it."

Joshua took a deep breath and raised his head. He smiled at the woman. "I didn't get your name."

"Let's just call me a friend, for now."

"Okay." He nodded. "Thank you, friend." Joshua moved off back in the direction of the Forum, disappearing down a shadowed alley.

Stepping back from the street, the woman's already beautiful features softened, her stature changing as the water from her clothes pooled off in waves. Aphrodite watched the boy go. "Such a cutie," she said, before disappearing with a giggle in a shimmer of light.

***

Eve opens her eyes. It is still dark outside the shutters, though a strange glow can be discerned. The rain hisses and smacks across the roof of the mansion. She stretches, blinking up at the vague features of the ceiling.

Voices had disturbed her sleep.

Training her hearing, she hears voices, dogs barking just down the hill-all over the surrounding area. Far off, to the east, she hears the fat bleat of an alarm horn. Eve rubs at her eyes.

My dream…

Eve sighs and turns onto her side.

Doesn't get any easier…watching your own death-knowing how it is to happen.

There are more voices. They emanate from inside the mansion. She can recognize Virgil's. The others are muffled.

"Gabrielle?"

Eve sits up, slips her feet into sandals, rises and leaves the room. Quickly she pads down the halls following the voices, familiar yet still unknown. She descends the stairs and moves toward one of the kitchens. She steps to the entrance, the light coming from just inside.

In the doorway, she stops and gasps.

Mira is leaning against a counter, arms crossed. At the table sits Virgil, Gabrielle -- and her mother, who now stands.

That morning it had rained, the drops falling so heavy their impact shattered them to mist. Obscuring the nearby city, the cloud sat low along the docks at Ostia, causing the sailors, the soldiers, the travelers to fade in and out of view. Eve covered her head with her shawl-the Indian silk still clinging to the faint perfumes of jasmine, orchid, cardamom. The water soaked through her clothes, chilling her skin but she was numb to it already.

She had sent word of her return from a small outpost along the Tigris, telling her mother, telling Gabrielle to send reply to her in Rhodes-to send her their whereabouts. The response to her message had come from Virgil. In the shadow of the Colossus she had read the poet's letter, its sparse request for her to meet him in Ostia.

After that she had never questioned what news she would receive, only why she had no prescience of it. On the ship to Ostia (where Eli had been killed; the irony not escaping her) she had stopped dreaming altogether. Abandoned again, she thought.

On the dock, she wrapped her shawl about her shoulders, taking a breath of the sour sea air. From out of the mist Virgil appeared, his face a wan mask slick with rain. All he had to tell her was visible in his eyes. With a sad smile, she stepped toward him.

"Eve?"

Eve brings her hand to her mouth; the trembling fingers brush her lips. "M-mother?" Her voice is cracking and she begins to cry. She staggers forward as a wave of dizziness sweeps over her. A sigh escapes from her and she lets go, falling now.

She is caught in strong arms, her mother's arms. Eve begins to sob.

"Shh. It's okay." Xena whispers.

"H-how?"

"Never mind that now."

Eve raises her face to her mother's, puts a hand on her cheek. The eyes are the right eyes, although she seems troubled, distant. Gabrielle is beside them now, smiling, helping them to the table. Eve wipes her eyes and sits down.

"Well, that solves how we were going to tell her," Virgil says with a chuckle. They all laugh. He wipes at his eyes and gets to his feet. "I-I'll let you have some time to yourselves." He smiles warmly at them all and heads for the door.

Mira nods ambivalently. "Yeah, me too." With a heavy-footed shuffle, the girl follows the poet out the door.

Gabrielle winces as she straightens. She is favoring her ribs. Eve notices bruises on the warrior's cheek and reaches out. "Gabrielle?"

"It's nothing." Gabrielle smiles warmly as she avoids the acolyte's fingers. She nods. "I'll leave you two for a bit."

Eve turns to her mother. Xena slumps slightly, her eyes unfocused. She seems beyond weary. Eve leans forward. "Mother?"

"It's…" Xena smiles. "I can't tell you how wonderful it is to hear you say that word to me…even though…" Her gaze saddens, seems to search in vain. She sighs.

Watching her mother struggle, Eve's chest tightened as she finished the thought. "Even though you have trouble remembering me."

"Yes." Xena's brows knit sadly together.

Eve watches her. She watches the vein pulse gently in her mother's neck. She watches the repeated rise and fall of her shoulders with each breath. Watches the blink of her eyelids.

Alive.

Eve watches her hands tremble.

_But my dream?_

She inhales deeply, feeling her mood slacken, relax. She looks to her mother again. "You don't remember anything at all?"

"My memories are like words on one of Gabrielle's scrolls-stories, impressions-not as though I've lived them."

Eve ponders this. "Well, what do you remember?"

"You left for India." Xena tilts her head in curiosity. "Did you like it?"

How to explain? The journey to India was not something to like or loathe, it simply was, as seasons change, as stars are. I could not avoid the time spent there, the knowledge I gained. It would be like avoiding my own breathing or the beating of my heart. Is it the same with what has happened tonight?

"I was in India for four years." Eve nods. "It's a very spiritual place. Many… many of my beliefs deepened, grew stronger there." She looks sadly to her mother. "When I returned, you were dead, Gabrielle was gone."

"There was no way to send word to you…" Xena was visibly pained by this. "And then… finally…we… we decided to…" She looked into Eve's eyes. "I needed peace; I needed rest."

"Virgil told me." Eve put her hand on Xena's. "Together we worried for Gabrielle's life." Eve held her eyes closed for a moment. "I searched most of Egypt for her."

"She's been through so much. When I look into her eyes, I-I see it." Xena looked at the table's surface. "All of it."

Eve squeezes her mother's hand. They sit in silence for some time. She has an idea. "I can help you."

Xena raises her eyes to Eve's. "What?"

"There is a divide-a wound-between you and your memories." Eve nods reassuringly. "I can heal it."

"How?"

Eve raises an eyebrow. "I have many skills." They laugh and Eve moves around the table. She stands behind her mother and places her fingers upon Xena's temples. She whispers: "Relax. Let me in."

Eve begins her visualization and the healing litany. Her mother's thoughts and memories writhe and crash like waves on the surface, but soon she pushes through to the deeper essence. Here, the consciousness is calm, the currents gentle and Eve moves easily. In the distance she can see a form, slack, almost lifeless, floating in the deep. It is her mother. Eve smiles. Closing her eyes, she lets light flow from her, illuminating her body, the darkness around her. She moves toward her mother, her arms open wide.

***

Virgil walked into a dim lounge area away from the kitchen. Even in the absence of reliable light, Gabrielle could see his body tremble. Stepping up behind him, she placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned, smiling. "Quite a day." His eyes twinkled with moisture. "Gabrielle, I-"

"Get some rest."

"But-"

"She's not going anywhere."

The poet smiled and gave a nod. He moved from the room, pausing before Mira and taking time to squeeze her shoulder as he left. Mira's gaze remained on Gabrielle, her eyes sharp points in the darkness. The warrior watched her for a moment then trained her ears toward the kitchen. Mira sighed loudly. Gabrielle turned to her. "What is it?"

The girl scowled. "It figures you would have to ask."

"A lot's happened tonight."

Mira stepped forward. "I'm the last person you have to remind about that."

"I know, Mira, but-"

"But what?"

Gabrielle sighed. She opened her hands then closed them into fists. "Things have changed in my life tonight, too."

Mira straightened. She shook her head. "Did you ever stop and ask yourself if this was a trap?"

"What?"

"You said Ares created Nemesis; maybe he's using the way she looks-the way she acts-against you."

Gabrielle moved forward quickly, pointing to the other room. "That's Xena in there." She composed herself. "I have no doubts."

"How could you?" Mira stepped closer, her teeth bared. "That's the point."

"Aphrodite told me-"

"Oh, and of course there's no possibility that she's in on all of this?"

"Mira, stop-"

"Stop what? Making sense?"

"No, I-"

"Is that what you're afraid of?"

"Shut up!"

It had been a whisper, but sharp enough to end the tension. Mira's body sagged as she sighed. Gabrielle ran a hand through her hair. She stepped toward the girl. "I…"

Mira didn't raise her head. "Do you know which scrolls of yours I've been reading lately?"

The warrior averted her eyes. She shook her head. "Which?"

"The ones dealing with your first trip to Britannia and all that happened because of it."

Gabrielle stepped back, her head bowed. "Mira, I'm sorry, I-"

"I can't believe you've turned your back on the fact that I've killed someone. I thought that 'blood innocence' was important to you?" The girl raised her face, her eyes tired and sad looking. "Or were those just words in a story?"

"But-"

"And what hurts the most is that everything I'm saying right now is just a distraction, is just taking your attention away from where it really wants to be."

"That's not true!"

"Please don't." Mira shook her head, a sneer upon her lips. "No more lying. I'm sick enough already." A cry escaped her as she tore at her hair. "Can't you see-can't you know how much this is tearing me up? I feel like throwing up or screaming or tossing myself off a bridge." She turned to Gabrielle, her face twisted with anguish. "Every face I see is his face."

Gabrielle stepped closer. "Oh, Mira." She reached a hand out, stroking the girl's hair.

Mira sighed, not moving. She let her shoulders slide forward. "The saddest part is that I-I did it for you."

Gabrielle felt her body grow cold and a dark feeling settle in the hollows of her guts. And there is no one less deserving of your love or protection. She put her forehead against Mira's. "Gods."

Just then, a scream echoed from the direction of the kitchen. Gabrielle spun. "Xena?" She paused, turning to Mira. The girl sniffed and motioned for Gabrielle to lead the way. They ran through the halls to the kitchen.

On the floor, Xena was sprawled, her limbs convulsing, her pale face cycling through several conflicting emotions. Above her, Eve knelt, her hand caressing her mother's head.

Gabrielle stepped forward. "What's going on?"

Eve nodded calmly. "Her memories are returning."

"Which ones?"

The acolyte spoke calmly. "All of them."

***

Just before sunrise, Nero returned to his chambers in the Domus Aurea. The wide doors to his balcony were open, the breeze and rain blowing the curtains in sweeping arcs of cloth. A thin haze of smoke rested near the high ceiling, bringing with it the smell of the burning city. And in his ornate bed, quite incongruous to the room's splendors and decadence lay Octavia, her back resting upon a cluster of pillows.

The bodyguard's expression was tight and pained, though her eyes when she met his were clear and without fever. Her arm, recently dressed by the Imperial Surgeon, lay limp at her side. Nero scrutinized the bandages, the small drop of blood that had soaked through, as he sat on the bed beside her.

"Did Taran not cauterize the wound?" he asked.

She nodded, then spoke through obvious pain. "He said it will still bleed a little."

"My poor, sweet, Octavia." Nero touched her thigh. "You will be rewarded many times over for your sacrifice."

She shook her head. "It is my duty, Caesar."

"That may be, that may be." He smiled, moving his hand toward her wound then pausing over it. "But I have several presents planned for you." He returned his hand to her thigh. "The least of which is resolving Rome's current crisis in a succinct and pleasing manner, yes?"

Something in her gaze shifted, surfacing out of the pain. "Your plan."

"Yes." He nodded at her. "My plan."

Nero looked at the slowly widening stain of blood soaking through Octavia's bandage. His eye twitched then he looked quickly away.

She watched him. Shifting slightly onto her hip, she gestured toward the wound. "Do it."

He raised his chin, unsure.

"I want you to," she said.

They exchanged a glance then Nero took her wounded hand in his. Octavia winced in pain. They watched each other, eyes narrow and flickering. He slowly waved his fingers over the wound, not touching it, watching her reaction, her anticipation. With gentle touches he caressed the blood drops, the bandages and she sighed in pain, in pleasure.

"Yes," she hissed through clenched teeth.

The pace, the pressure intensified, while the teasing continued. Octavia writhed under the sheets, sweat forming on her skin and glistening in the firelight. Their eyes remained fixed. Finally, she could wait no longer.

"Now."

Nero pressed his thumb against the bloody piece of cloth and she groaned with the ecstatic pain; her back arching. He watched the contortions of her face without emotion. She collapsed back onto the pillow and lost consciousness.

With a sigh, Nero rested Octavia's arm gently back on the bed. He raised his thumb to his lips, droplets of blood coating his tongue. All the while he watched her.

"Sleep," he whispered to her. "Soon, we shall crush them all." He smiled with a growing malevolence. "And it begins with the one-god worshipping heathens."

***

_Outside the mansion, on the street that twists down the Quirinal Hill to the Forum, I can hear two people nervously jog by. Their feet scrape and slosh over the cobbles in the rain. They speak; their voices punching through the air in nervous barks._

_-Will the fire continue in this rain?_

_-The Forum is in ruins._

_-Someone must have set this._

_Distant are the sounds of the alarms, the horns, the bells._

_Outside, the world is in chaos and you are in my arms again. In my arms, you shudder, twitch-another remembrance surfaces; your voice is lost sounding, as though from out of a dream._

_-Caesar…Caesar tells me that you are an assassin…Is this true?_

_Your eyes stare blank and distant up at me, as I push a strand of hair from your face. I smile. How many times have we sat like this? I try not to answer my own question. More mumbling, you've been roiling this way, swept under and up again for over a candlemark now. While I am not there with you, I am still subject to what you are reliving. Although I suffer it all in my own particular way._

_-You think that love is worth dying for…Th-that's not exactly the path of an assassin…_

_Then you are lost again. But I remain in the memory; a memory that, save for its place in our minds, never truly existed. A broken thread, lost to the universe, except us. Yet in this lifetime, I proved your sentiments, did I not? The path of the assassin is no place for one who would die for love. And here I am, alive…_

_Thunder shivers above, loud enough that I can hear one of Gallus' servants scream in surprise, fear, somewhere near the kitchen, two floors below us._

_Outside, the world is in chaos and you are in my arms again._

_In my arms again and I feel--what?_

_Of all the ways I had imagined this moment, of all the hundreds of ways, I had never imagined myself feeling anything other than joy. Yet what is this inside me now?_

_What was it Aphrodite had said? After I had accused her of succeeding where the other Olympians had failed; that love had killed you in the end._

_In her temple, I was hysterical; the thought that you might be alive and out there and not with me, made me froth like a poisoned dog. I took my anger with myself out on her._

_"If she hadn't turned her back on him…she would still be…"_

_Her gaze had sharpened. "Would she?"_

_"It was you! You let her feel things…you let her feel… Without you, without love she wouldn't have felt guilt…for anything…"_

_"But that's not what you believe, Gabrielle. Is it?"_

_And she was right. But so was I. Your path would have been so much easier, wouldn't it?_

_You shudder, as with sobbing._

_-Solan!_

_Your eyes open, wide with sad realization._

_-No…_

_Your path would have been so much easier without love, wouldn't it?_

_-No… No, you lied to me… m-my son is dead-because of you…_

_Your path would have been so much easier without love. Mine, too…_

_Love showed me how, when all had been resolved in Illusia, you blamed yourself and not me for Solan's death. Love twisted me darkly when I felt betrayed by you when you saved Eve from darkness, where Hope had been destroyed. Love was a slow pain unfurled, connected as a stray thread to your ghost, torn from me each waking moment-then pulled into infinity upon your passing. I have hated love for so long. I do not feel the part of me that once ran over with its liquors; it is dry, it is perhaps gone._

_I run a hand through your hair. My fingers lost in the black there before I realize what it is I am doing._

_-It's not about me… It's about these people… That's why we're here. It's the Greater Good-remember that._

_I smile. The last time I encountered those words was in my scrolls. It was years ago, when I still cared to read them, to write them. I realized that I had never, and probably would never, put something so important into such simple words._

_-Go on, now. I'll be here when you get back._

_That was the first time you died, wasn't it? At least, of the times I know of. I remember it hurt so much, but before it truly settled, you returned to life. Soon after, it was my turn to return the favor-in Thessaly._

_And we just kept dying and dying, until…_

_-If I only had thirty seconds to live-this is how I'd want to live them-looking into your eyes…_

_I am trapped between laughter and tears when you speak of Jappa, when you remember the exact moment that I do. But it is here where our roads will diverge before arriving at the same destination. For you, it is a straight path, as you've said before; the Greater Good. For me, it was a winding footpath leading down to revelation. And after it all, I never once tried to attempt what has now been done. Never to upset your rest, or my own guilt in it all. I thought it was what you wanted._

_But now you are here, in my arms. I have hated love for so long. But now…_

_I pull you closer, hide my face against you and lose myself- everything- in your breathing. I know not for how long. I don't care for how long. You continue to quake, to remember. Happily, there are joyous times among them. Still I long for oblivion against you, in the texture of your skin, the scent of your hair._

_Until…_

_-Gabrielle?_

_You move to sit up._

_-Xena?_

_-Yes… I…_

_-You remember?_

_Your tired smile is my answer. Then you try to stand._

_I hold you down._

_-Shh…Rest now._

_I know you want to protest, but then you settle against me. Outside, the world is in chaos and you are in my arms again. And for a moment, I relax against you._

***

The child had died within reach of its mother. Perhaps this had been comfort enough. Joshua stood in the smoky streets to the south of the Forum, he looked down upon a scattering of bodies pushed aside by the waves of Vigiles, of Praetorians who fought the blaze. Specifically, he looked upon the bodies of a woman and her young daughter, arms stretched toward each other, never touching.

Perhaps they were not related. Perhaps their proximity, their posture were both coincidence. Regardless, their blackened fingers outstretched for one another, never touching, gripped Joshua. He rubbed at his eyes.

"That's some tough stuff, kid." Ares appeared at Joshua's side, indicating the bodies. "Sure you can handle it?"

"Of course I can't handle it." While slightly startled by the god's sudden appearance, Joshua didn't turn. "I don't ever want to handle it."

The God of War crossed his arms. "Having strength doesn't mean you lose humanity, you know? If anything, that's when you humans are at your best." He sneered. "Not when you're crawling around on your hands and knees scared of death."

"I'm not afraid of death." Joshua shook his head. "I hate when it happens needlessly, without reason."

Ares snorted. "Oh, there's a reason for all of this death."

"And what is that?"

The God of War raised his chin. "Why? What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know." Joshua kneeled between the two curled, dead hands. He reached his hand out then pulled back. "I'm just tired of all the evil in this place."

"Like I told you before, it's not so much the place as the guy running it."

"Nero?"

"Go figure. Biggest empire the world has ever known and the guy at the top is a complete freak-job."

"He really is insane?"

"Totally nuts and pure evil." Ares shook his head. "Not a good combination."

Joshua got to his feet and wandered toward the god. "Why don't they get rid of him?"

"It seems so easy, doesn't it?"

"Yes."

Ares smiled. "That's because it is."

"Then why?"

"Look, it's going to sound all diviner-than-thou coming from me." Ares put his hand on Joshua's shoulder. "It's because humans, for the most part, are scared little animals."

"My friends aren't."

"Maybe they aren't." Ares walked with Joshua to the street. "But they're focusing their attention in the wrong places. Someone needs to step up and take care of the real problem."

Joshua stopped. "You can't just walk up and kill the Emperor of Rome."

"No? Why not?"

"How?" Joshua blinked.

"I can think of a bunch of different ways." Ares smiled. "Most of them involve doing what's least expected. Surprise is usually the best way to take out these sorts." Joshua became pensive. Ares watched him then shrugged his shoulders. "But hey, that's just my opinion. Maybe someone can think of way to love him to death or maybe someone stronger and crazier and more evil can come along and take the throne for themselves, y'know?"

Joshua knotted his hands together. He watched the scared faces of the survivors moving in lines through the smoking streets. He looked at the night sky, flames still rising over the city. He shook his head. "He needs to be stopped."

"Look kid, no offense, but you should just find your friends and let them handle it." Ares smirked. "If they're still alive." The God of War disappeared into the night.

Pushing his soaked hair from his eyes, Joshua glowered at the space of air where Ares had once stood. Through the drops of rain, the falling cinders, he made out the faint shadows of the bodies at the side of the street. With a determined stride he moved out to the street, walking against the flow of Romans, heading toward the center of the blaze and the Esquiline Hill.

***

_At the grove, in the middle of the night, Gabrielle woke from soft dreams. The campfire still flickered, casting a soft orange daze upon the bark, the leaves of the tree above them. With a blink, the bard made the shocked realization that she shared a bedroll with Xena. And really shared it. She was naked-they both were naked-under the cloth. She flushed at the thought, the memories. With a tiny purr, she nuzzled back against Xena's warm body. The warrior's strong arms pulled her close. Gabrielle sighed with contentment._

_Around them, crickets chirped softly, lazily and occasionally Argo snorted or stirred but otherwise their surroundings remained peaceful. Strangely so, or at least that's how Gabrielle felt about it. The two of them had been sleeping outdoors a lot lately and that meant sleeping restlessly, cautiously, with one eye and one ear open, waiting for any strange sound or movement. They were rarely bothered, and when they were, the trouble (usually from the most haggard of bandits) was easily dispatched, but the threat always remained and it wore on them over the course of time. But here, in this valley, Gabrielle felt safe._

_Maybe it was because Xena did, too. The warrior hadn't spoken, or yelled, or cried in her sleep as she often did. She hadn't got to her feet and walked a perimeter watch in the middle of the night, or fed or combed Argo. She was sleeping-just sleeping._

_Gabrielle smiled. The moon was plump in the sky, offering much light. Looking around, Gabrielle pondered some of the features in the valley. Where they lay would be a great place for a table to eat dinners outside in the summer evenings. The tree would provide a wonderful shade and would catch their laughter in its leaves. The bard's grin spread dreamily. If you had a table and a meal, you would definitely need a small cottage nearby, where you could cook and sleep. Gabrielle remembered a great spot just up the hill-Xena would probably complain that it wouldn't be sheltered from the elements, but Gabrielle knew that valleys were often spared Nature's worst weather. There were goats in the hills where they could get milk, sheep for wool, fish for food-the pond for bathing! And for swimming! And for…other fun activities…_

_Gabrielle sighed softly. She looked at the bouquet of flowers Xena had brought her, tied at the stems and lying nearby. There were none growing in the valley. While the thought of Xena having to journey out of the valley to prove her love to the bard was appealing, Gabrielle couldn't agree to it in good conscience. They would need to plant some of them, in the hills maybe, so that their rolling green would turn golden in the summers. Otherwise, the valley was perfect. Gabrielle closed her eyes and began to drift back into sleep._

_Not for the first time that day, the bard wished they could stay where they were forever..._

Gabrielle blinked up at the ceiling. She sighed.

_The flowers, she thought. I left them behind, didn't I?_

Beside her Xena breathed evenly, quiet now, lost in sleep. Gabrielle turned on her side; her ribs ached sharply but soon the pain faded. She looked at the silhouette next to her, the steady rise and fall of its breathing. They had just fallen into bed together and into sleep. It had been so easy; the only time that night things had been so. Exhaustion erased the questions, the awkwardness-the other emotions.

_It feels strange to be beside her like this. It feels strange because it feels familiar and nothing has, not for so long._

Beyond the shutters of the room, she could hear Rome writhing, could hear the alarms, the howls of dogs, panicked voices rushing by. No escaping it. Soon, they would wake and have to deal with whatever consequences this night had created. Life moving past, carrying them away as it always had.

In the same way it had carried them away from the grove, the flowers, her dreams of a quiet life.

She rubbed at her aching ribs. Stupid dreams. Childish dreams. She growled quietly to herself. Reawakened dreams.

Gabrielle blinked at the sleeping woman. A strand of Xena's hair curled at its end, arcing black and wild into the still air above her shoulder. Gabrielle reached out for it then stopped. Her outstretched fingers twisted inward, withered at the tips, she removed her hand and turned onto her back again. She ground her knuckles into her eye sockets.

Just as the singing of the first birds could be heard beyond the closed shutters, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

Along the Via Cassia, children play. Awake before the sun they have journeyed with their fathers to the fields and scattered now into the dark. They hide from each other in the thin fringes of the woods, in the ditches along the edge of the road. Some hide beneath a tall bridge, leaning back against rocks to avoid the pull of the yawning drop to the river below. They titter at each other in the shadows there.

Above, there is a dull sound, growing in volume, intensity. Soon, pebbles dislodge and roll past the hiding children, falling into the black mouth beneath them. The bridge trembles beneath the steady pounding that finally drives the children from their coveys and up to the side of the road. They stop, standing still in the low ditch at the Cassia's side.

Dust rises from the road as hundreds of armored men march in perfect, straight rows. Some hold ornate standards gilded with the eagle of Rome. Others march beside large horse-driven carts pulling strange and terrifying machinery. Stern, tan-faced men ride to the sides of the ranks, flowing robes over their armor, the polish evident even in the poor light of the early morning.

For almost a half candlemark the children watch as thousands of men and their equipment advance. Later, with the armies' dust still hanging over the fields, the children return to their fathers. They do not need the wisdom of the men, who speak in tense whispers over bread and dried fruit, to know the soldiers' destination. All their lives they have known the terminus of all journeys, of all roads. Before returning to their crops, the men all agree that the armies would arrive at Rome by the middle of the afternoon.

***

Above the clouds, sunrise begins at one's feet. Rays of light fill the mists with radiance, then break through and stab into the dying night. The stars fade, pebbles swept under morning's tide. And finally, the sun breaks, swollen and burning into the sky.

A coral glow falls upon the empty pathways of Olympus. It casts long shadows, remembrances of night, behind the temples, behind the statues and fountains and towers. The holy marble and granite, the divine steel and metals swell in the new light, as if alive and drawing a lone, triumphant breath.

To the east, at the far end of the Olympic Plateau, stands the Temple of the Sun. Here, reflected through the great Glass of Helios, the first rays of morning are honed into a single beam, a fine shaft of light that streaks without sound through the air. Pale and dangerous, it falls in a gentle arc for a few short moments only into the dark opening of the Great Pyre. In a roar of flame, the torch bursts to life, lighting the interior of the temple, casting a powerful glow across the silent peaks of Olympus and down upon sleeping Hellas below.

_Trumpets_, the Goddess remembers, as she watches. _There used to be trumpets..._

The distant and echoing sound of a hammer striking steel dissipates into the morning air.

Awakened by the sound, by the eruption of flame in the temple, the white doves of Hera take to the air circling once around the ivy-covered buildings and then on into the morning. The wild birds return not out of loyalty to some long-forgotten mistress, but rather out of instinct and the traditions of their forebears. Within the Temple of the Sun, the light illuminates the statue of Helios upon his flaming chariot, such as it is. One arm has crumbled at the elbow, the hand clinging still to the reins.

Draped in coral cloak and cowl, the Goddess strolls across the warming marble footpaths. The rays of morning caress her shoulders, her back, and she smiles, despite her mood. Her footfalls pad softly, echoing low in the silence. Soon, she is upon the Forum of the Gods; the main stretch flanked with the myriad temples and towers of Olympus.

_Home, sweet home,_ she sighs.

There are countless statues here, upon pedestals, sunken in trenches for dramatic effect, and cast upon the level ground, so that one might look eye-to-eye with the likenesses of Perseus, or Atalanta, or Hercules. The Goddess strolls through here in silence, her robes lightly brushing the effigies. Debris lays on the ground, here a weapon, there a collection of fingers strewn upon the marble and she sidesteps these. The hammer sounds once again, hollow against the close leaning sky.

Within the Halls of War, there are torches burning and she can smell incense and the acrid odor of metal upon flame. Weapons line the walls here, from the first sharpened stick, to the finest blade. The lamps and flames glint off of iron and bronze, upon silver and heavier metals; upon spear and cestus, armor and bone. The sound of the hammer blow is loudest here, it swells into the dome above her head.

Entering the long space of the great hall, she finds her brother rummaging through a stone chest of unknown origin, a cluster of scrolls strewn behind him. At his feet is a hammer and the ruins of an ancient metal lock. "What are you doing here?" Ares says, without turning.

"Wanna do brunch?"

Ares continues to rummage, scrutinizing a scroll briefly before tossing it aside with the other castoffs. "Beat it, sis." The tone is curt, though not confrontational or mean. "I'm busy."

"That's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about." Aphrodite ambles around the chest to stand face-to-face with her brother. His face is tensed in concentration. She smiles sadly at him. "I know we've gone over this before, but is all of this really necessary?"

Ares unfurls a scroll and squints at its writing. Nodding to himself, he rolls it up, stands, and without a word to his sister begins to leave the room. Not missing a beat, Aphrodite follows.

"I know you think you have to do what you have to do." She pulls alongside of him. "But are things really this desperate?"

The God of War turns to face her now, his eyes dark. "Yes," he growled. "They are." He grabs her by the arm and marches to a balcony that overlooks the empty Forum. He points across the scarred marble to the gnarled and rusted remains of a large metal cage. "Remember that?"

"The hydra's cage."

Ares nods. "Discord brought that thing home when it was still in an egg. And what did Mom say?"

Aphrodite smirks as she approximates her mother's voice, including the booming echo. "'Discord, you put that back where you found it this instant!'"

"But Dad told Dis' to keep it, just to tick Mom off."

"He was so good at that."

"Then what happened? It hatched and everyone loved it for awhile."

The Goddess grins, wrinkling her nose a little. "It did have that whole ugly-cute thing going on!"

Ares doesn't change his gaze or tone. "But soon, it got big, it got ugly, it got mean; and the time came for something to be done about it."

"Didn't it eat Artemis' belt or something?"

"And what did I say? I told Discord to take care of it and what did she do? She went to Dad. And what did he do?"

"Nothing?"

"Exactly." Ares pushes an angry exhale from his chest. "Oh, he built a cage, but look at it-even you could bend the bars on that thing."

Aphrodite crosses her arms. "Go on."

"After that 'pet' got out and went on a rampage around here, who had to deal with it?" He turns to her. "Me, that's who. I had to boot it off the cliff and it still survived." He rolls his eyes. "I had to get Hercules and his stupid sidekick to take care of it."

"The point?"

"The point is when it was all done, Dad decided to leave the cage where it was. As a reminder, he said, that we can't help our natures. That it was Discord's nature to create, well, discord. That it was mine to fight the battle." The God of War turns to the window once more. "At first I thought it was a load of crap, but then I realized that in a way, he was telling the truth. Through the whole ordeal, he had shown his true nature as well."

Aphrodite turns to her brother. "Which was?"

"To cause trouble then sit back on his throne and not lift a finger about it until it's too late." Ares points out to the grounds beyond the window. "Look out there," he yells. "That's what happens when you stay up here and do nothing when the dirty work needs to be done. That's what happens when you think that just because you're immortal you're somehow above life and death." He looks at her now, much of his ire dissipating. "That's what happened to them, sis, and I'm not going to let it happen to us." He turns to the scroll for a moment then looks into her eyes. "It's a fight for our survival." He sighs with a shrug. "What else am I supposed to do?"

Aphrodite touches his cheek softly and smiles. "Oh, Ar'."

He smiles. They both turn back out to the balcony. "You know, none of us were ever really built to understand one another. That's why we fought so much." He grins almost self-consciously. "Because of our natures."

She shrugs. "Didn't help that Mom and Dad played us against each other all the time."

He turns to her. "But you were the only one, sis, the only one that knew what made us tick; the only one with any kind of empathy."

She grins widely. "Well, I did create it, after all."

Ares grows somber again. "That's why I know you won't try to stop me-not directly, anyway." He nods to her. "You know it's what I have to do-what I'm born to do."

She bows her head sadly, the coral hood covering her eyes. Before he disappears, Ares gently touches her cheek.

Now the entire plateau is silent. The Goddess steps away from the balcony and walks through the Halls of War. She looks to the walls, at the weapons, crude and sublime, imagining the wounds inflicted, the lives smote out by each and every one. The countless men and women and children smothered in tides of blood and mountains of bone all through the arc of history into the dim and distant past.

With sadness she notes how blunt every one of them seemed in the face of the cruel weapons in Love's arsenal.


End file.
